Compromise
by The Lady Elrond
Summary: After Frollo threatens to burn Paris to the ground, Esmeralda decides to give herself up to save the city and her people. Disney based with hints of the novel. Chapter 23: In which Pierre and Madeleine finally admit their feelings for each other, the Palace of Justice receives a royal visitor and Claude and Esmeralda welcome a new addition to their family.
1. Compromise

**Compromise**

_'Nothing stands between us here__  
And I won't be denied...'_

January 1482_  
_

Claude Frollo sat on the edge of the bed, gazing in adoration at the bare foot nestled in his lap. It was a beautiful foot - small and tanned, with a fine arch and delicately curved heel - a foot made for dancing, for touching, for kissing...for _anything_ but walking. No, a foot this beautiful should never have to touch the ground...it should be bathed in holy water and rose petals...

Esmeralda was sleeping, her naked breasts rising and falling with every breath she took. The white satin sheets contrasted starkly with her dark skin and, as Frollo watched, she moaned in her sleep - his heart felt close to overflowing with tenderness for her. He sighed and, releasing her foot, stooped over her and buried his face in her hair - so thick and silky, the raven curls damp with sweat from the night's exertions. He inhaled and was immediately overwhelmed by her scent, familiar now, but still so exotic...spices and flowers and the unmistakable aroma of womanhood.

The gypsy stirred and her vivid green eyes, hazy with sleep, fluttered open. Frollo's chest tightened painfully as, unseeing, she gazed up at him for a blissful moment before drifting off again. He held her close, his thin, spider-like fingers tracing her features - the beloved features he had memorised and anguished over since that fateful day at the Festival...

Frollo could hardly believe that she was here, in his bed, and that she had came willingly, a heathen martyr, sacrificing herself for the greater good.

_Holy Mother, how he remembered that night! Every detail of it was indelibly etched in his mind - the image of her, blue cloak draped around her shoulders, smoke and ashes in the air..._

_He had been by the empty fireplace, contemplating his recent actions in the darkness. He was still determined to find her but, at the same time, was filled with grief - Paris, his city, was in flames, the fire ignited by his own hands. He regretted what he had done but knew she was worth it...the gypsy whore, the demonic sorceress..._

_The love of his life._

_He was so consumed by these thoughts that he had not heard the door open and close, had not heard her soft footsteps on the marble floor...in fact, it wasn't until she spoke that he realised he was not alone._

_"Well...here I am. Just like you wanted."_

_She offered herself to him in return for the freedom and safety of her people and the citizens of Paris. The cloak slipped from her shoulders, revealing her to be completely naked underneath - with the blue garment pooled around her feet and her long black curls covering her bare breasts, Esmeralda looked like a dark, pagan Venus rising from the sea. Needless to say, Frollo had agreed to the terms and their 'business meeting' culminated with a rough and tumble romp in front of the fire..._

Frollo smirked at the memory and let his hands wander up and down her beautiful body - Esmeralda was finally his, his to do whatever he wanted with. She still hated him, he knew that, but she had agreed, had sworn to obey his every whim for however long he wanted her - and Frollo had made it clear that this meant forever. To give her credit, she had held up her side of the bargain extremely well; she was relatively dutiful, pliable and had given herself to him in every possible way but that was not to say that he had completely broken her spirit. At times her eyes still gleamed with that feline ferocity he knew so well and she could be petulant, opinionated and downright aggressive...but Frollo enjoyed a challenge. After all, taking his little whore down a peg or two was part of the fun!

Thinking of disciplining Esmeralda - _the riding crop thwacking hard against her pert backside_ - made him hard again but he didn't want to disturb her. He had already worked her enough for one night and he wanted her to be fresh for tomorrow; as always, he had a lot planned for them.

Frollo yawned - he also had a busy day ahead of him, what with his many duties as Minister of Justice - and slid under the bedclothes, curling his body around Esmeralda's delicious form. She frowned and, feeling his erection against her, tried to squirm away from him. Frollo chuckled - even asleep she could be an ill-humoured wench.

"Rest easy, my little wasp," he murmured, "I have no plans to ravish you...not just yet anyway..."

He had all the time in the world to enjoy her.

**a/n Characters belong to Victor Hugo and Walt Disney. I'm just borrowing them to act out my perverse fantasies...ahem. Lyrics are from 'Possession' by Sarah McLachlan. **_  
_


	2. Tyranny

**Tyranny**

_Smock._

_Kirtle._

_Gown._

_Headdress._

Esmeralda gazed into the pier glass, still and silent as a statue, as her maid, Madeleine fussed over her, chattering inanely. She sighed, remembering when she had been able to dress herself; now she struggled with the many layers of clothing, the ribbons, the buttons, the lace; the Minister - _Claude_ - insisted that she dress modestly.

"You are a Christian woman now, not a heathen witch."

_Ironic that, considering they were living in sin. Evidently, she was good enough to fuck but not to marry..._

"There we are," Madeleine smiled, straightening the golden net containing the gypsy's luxuriant curls, "You look absolutely breathtaking!"

Esmeralda wrinkled her nose at her reflection. The velvet gown _did _nicely accentuate her emerald eyes and ripe curves - not that she would ever admit to liking something Claude had picked out for her - but she detested having to wear her hair up. The beribboned headband kept slipping down her brow.

"Madeleine is right, my dear...you are stunning."

Claude stood in the doorway, smiling possessively. Madeleine curtseyed and left, casting an apologetic glance in Esmeralda's direction; all of the staff at the Palace of Justice pitied the Minister's lovely captive and admired her bravery and selflessness.

As soon as the door closed behind the maid, he came to stand behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, "You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman in Paris, my love."

"I still don't see why I should have to dress like this - these blasted clothes are so stuffy and uncomfortable!"

The Minister frowned, "Language, Esmeralda."

"Well it's the truth! How can any woman stand it?" she snapped, pulling off the headdress and hairnet and throwing them to the floor, "I feel like a doll...I'm surprised you haven't had Madeleine paint and powder my face yet."

"And spoil your natural beauty, make you look like some tawdry whore? Now why would I want that?" Claude murmured, burying his face in her hair. He ran his hands over her breasts and stomach, ignoring her protests, his erection pressed up against her backside. Esmeralda closed her eyes, letting her treacherous body awaken and respond to his seductive ministrations whilst her mind drifted away, floating, wandering into another time and place...

_...dancing, happy, free..._

_...sun god..._

_...Phoebus..._

Someone sighed blissfully in the distance and Esmeralda smiled ruefully when she realised that the sounds were coming from her own mouth; how could she be madly in love with one man but gasp and moan like a frenzied harlot with another?

Claude's nimble, cunning hands caressed her with such maddening skill that, in the end, she could not help but explode, crying out his name, her juices squirting all over his fingers before she sagged to the floor, emotionally drained. Esmeralda looked up at him, dazed and panting, hating the way he smiled smugly as, without warning, he shoved his sticky fingers into her open mouth. Exhausted, she fought the urge to vomit and obediently sucked his fingers clean, her senses overwhelmed by the musky odour of her own arousal. Claude grinned, enjoying her discomfort, before withdrawing his fingers and lifting her to her feet. In the many months since Esmeralda had given herself to him, she had never given voice to her own pleasure before now - the last barrier between them had been broken and The Minister was triumphant.

_"Come to bed...let's see if I can make you scream like that again..."_


	3. Scandal

**Scandal**

"Have you heard about the gypsy girl?"

_"The Minister's gypsy girl? What about her?"_

"She's with child!"

_"No!"_

"Yes!"

_"How do you know?"_

"Well, as you know, my niece Madeleine works in the Palace of Justice and she told me that Esmeralda-"

_"Dear me, such a barbaric name! I can hardly pronounce it!"_

"I know! But as I was saying, Madeleine told me that the gypsy has not needed to use a rag between her legs for some time now and has been vomiting terribly."

_"Oh my! The Minister will have to marry her now, won't he?"_

"Of course! I'm only surprised he didn't make her his wife right away - he's a very pious man you know."

**x X x**

Before the end of the day, the whole of Paris knew of Esmeralda's condition - that is, all except the prospective father.

Soon enough, the news reached the delicate ears of the Archdeacon of Notre Dame, for whom this piece of news was the last straw in the whole sordid affair. He had reluctantly held his tongue up until now, even though he completely disapproved of Claude Frollo's shameless fornication with the young gypsy girl. However, the thought of a child coming from such a sinful union was unbearable and it wasn't long before the irate Archdeacon summoned the bewildered Minister to the Cathedral - only to discover that he knew nothing of Esmeralda's pregnancy.

"So, these rumours are not true?"

Claude shrugged, resisting the urge to bury his haggard face in his hands, "I didn't think so Auguste but...well, if Madeleine's observations are correct..." He paused delicately and fixed his gaze on the marble tiles at his feet.

"If that is the case, you know you must do what is right, Claude...although morality has never been your strong suit," the Archdeacon rested his chin on steepled fingers, his manner pensive, "I have made my position in this situation quite clear; you should never have pursued the poor girl in the first place...but what's done is done. If you are agreeable, I will make the necessary arrangements for your marriage."

"So be it."

The Minister nodded and took his leave, his mind reeling from this revelation. He didn't know how to feel; the thought of his beloved Esmeralda carrying their child, her brown stomach stretched and breasts heavy with milk, made him inexplicably happy and yet, at the same time, he did not want to share her with anyone, least of all a demanding infant.

However, all of these thoughts melted away when he saw Esmeralda. She was sitting at her window, combing her hair and humming to herself; Claude watched her from the doorway, his heart swelling with love and pride. The sunlight shone through the open window, bathing her beautiful face in glorious golden light and creating the illusion of crimson glints in her raven curls, like dying embers in the ashes of a fire...it reminded him of the first time he ever saw her, dancing at the Festival of Fools...

_"Esmeralda..."_

She turned to face him, her emerald eyes strangely serene. The Minister's eyes flickered over her body - her ripe breasts, the luscious curve of her hips and her waist...as slender as it had ever been. He clenched his jaw, struggling with doubt and hope.

"You've heard the news then? I should've known Madeleine couldn't keep her mouth shut."

"It's true?"

Esmeralda nodded and her hands went instinctively to her stomach.

"How long have you known?" Claude asked, his voice hoarse.

She shrugged, "I've had the symptoms for more than three months now. I'm surprised you haven't noticed; I've been so sick and miserable, vomiting every morning, as soon as I get out of bed, and sometimes in the evenings too. Like last night."

Claude smiled ruefully, "I've usually left for court before you're awake, my dear...and when you were ill yesterday I...well, I thought that was because of me."

"Well, I can see why you might think that - you _do_ disgust me," she replied, wrinkling her nose playfully.

"So why didn't you tell me?"

Esmeralda turned back towards the window and picked up her comb. Her hands were shaking so much that she dropped it almost immediately and, when Claude stooped to retrieve it, he suddenly noticed the discreet roundness of her stomach. His grey eyes filled with tears of...joy? Sadness? A combination of the two? He didn't quite know.

"I was going to get rid of it before you found out. I even made arrangements to go see a woman I know who can help with that sort of thing..."

Before she could finish, the Minister was on his feet, nails digging into her shoulders, "What? Is your hatred for me so deep, that you would murder an innocent child just to spite me? Abortion is a sin!"

She tried to push him away, her eyes blazing with anger, "Well, obviously I didn't go through with it...I couldn't."

Claude released his grip on Esmeralda's shoulders and sat down beside her on the window seat, his face ashen with relief. Tentatively, he reached out and placed his hand, long, thin and pale, on her stomach. Esmeralda flinched but made no move to rebuke him as he gently began to caress the slight swell, his smile growing as he thought of the little life growing within. After a moment, he took a deep breath and looked into Esmeralda's face, surprised to see tears running down her cheeks - in all the time he had known he. He had never seen her weep before.

"What made you change your mind?"

She smiled tearfully, "The child is innocent. It does not deserve to be punished for the sins of others."

Despite the obvious allusion to his less than scrupulous behaviour, Claude found himself nodding in agreement, "Well, although this came as a complete surprise to me, I must admit that I'm actually rather looking forward to this. Parenthood, I mean."

Esmeralda frowned and cupped her stomach. She hated the thought of her unborn child being at the mercy of this man but knew better than to goad Claude further, "Let's just hope you're a better father to this little one than you were to poor Quasimodo...oh, Quasimodo! Can we tell him? How excited he'll be!"

"Yes, yes and I must write to my younger brother Jehan too but, first thing's first - the Archdeacon wants us to get married and I think it is an excellent idea. That way our child will be my official heir. You'll have to be baptised of course, everything must be done properly...why I didn't marry you months ago is beyond me but-"

Esmeralda wasn't listening. she was thinking about what Claude had said about his brother; he had never mentioned him before now and she was naturally curious. What was this Jehan like? Was he as insane as his elder brother? What if he decided to visit? She didn't think she could cope with two Frollos looking down their arrogant noses at her - in such a hormonal state, she would probably murder them both.

"Esmeralda? Esmeralda!"

"Hmm?"

Claude glared at her, one iron-grey eyebrow arched, "Were you even listening to me?"

"Of course I was!" she replied indignantly, feigning a yawn, "It's just I'm so tired..."

Face suddenly full of concern, Claude helped her to her feet and began to undress her, "Forgive me; I should have realised. You should go to bed and rest...I'll have Madeleine bring you some warm milk."

Esmeralda smiled; perhaps being pregnant wasn't so bad after all.

**a/n Thanks to GothikaFaerie for her lovely review :D**


	4. Complication

**Complication**

The wedding was going quite smoothly, much to the Minister's relief.

Despite efforts to keep the ceremony under wraps from the general public, it seemed as though the whole city and surrounding provinces had turned up to see the long awaited nuptials. The crowds filled the square outside Notre Dame, pushing and shoving to get a glimpse of the fabulously dressed nobles, dripping with jewels, fur and lace, the bridegroom, as haughty as ever but obviously nervous beneath his arrogance and, of course, the beautiful, brave gypsy girl herself. Esmeralda looked breathtaking in her gown of emerald and cream, her swollen stomach partially hidden by a suspiciously large bouquet of flowers.

The cathedral was overflowing with the most wealthy and influential people in France and, after Esmeralda's baptism and the hasty ceremony were over, the newly-weds found themselves surrounded by a merry throng of noble well-wishers. The gentlemen congratulated Claude on his conquest of his new bride - _'a thoroughly splendid creature'_ - and the ladies cornered Esmeralda. She forced herself to smile as, with thinly veiled jealousy and cruel, critical eyes, they complimented her gown _- how well it matches your eyes, dear! -_ and exclaimed, over and over, how very lucky she was to have a fine man like the Minister as a husband.

"Madame Frollo..."

Shocked to hear herself addressed by this title, Esmeralda turned to see Phoebus de Châteaupers standing behind her. Her chest constricted painfully as she took in his silky hair and kind eyes, his rugged jaw, the way his golden armour made him look like a god..._her sun god_...

"Captain Phoebus," she breathed, almost boring holes into him with the intensity of her stare.

He smiled and began to speak, bringing Esmeralda back to her senses with a sharp jolt, "I'm glad you remember me, Madame...'

"How could I forget?" she replied steadily, thinking back to that day. There had been definite sparks between them, "We met in this very cathedral, didn't we? After the Festival of Fools?"

"Yes. You attacked me with my own sword," he laughed and, after pressing a chaste kiss to her hand, lowered his voice so that only she could hear his words, "_I think you are an extremely courageous woman, Madame. You saved Paris...and her people think the world of you for that._ Ah, Fleur!" His last two words were spoken louder than the others and his smile broadened considerably as a lovely young woman suddenly appeared at his side.

"Madame, this is my wife, Fleur," Phoebus simpered, gazing down at the petite blonde with a disgustingly soppy look on his face. Esmeralda felt her passion for the handsome soldier disappear almost immediately - he clearly adored this woman. Fleur clutched her husband's arm, smiling sweetly - her light blue eyes, however, were hard and flinty as they ran over the gypsy, clearing sizing her up as a possible rival.

_Don't worry, princess_, Esmeralda sneered inwardly,_ I'm not after your man...although I know I could take him easily, if I wanted to. But you're welcome to him - he's just a pretty face and I need more than that. _

"What a daring gown! I don't think I could ever wear such a low neckline - especially not at my own wedding!" Fleur exclaimed. Having failed to find fault with Esmeralda's looks, she was determined to find something, however trivial, to pick at, "But then I suppose it takes a certain kind of beauty to pull off such a barbarous look_..."_

"Not many women are as lucky as I am," Esmeralda countered with a deceptively innocent smile, "I'm afraid you certainly don't have the shape for it, Madame de Chateaupers."

Fleur tossed her golden curls, "No, I'm afraid I'm much too slim. All of my gowns have to be specially fitted - it's so expensive and such a bore!"

"You have such tiny hips, Madame de Châteaupers - I'm sure the thought of childbirth must fill you with great dread. I knew a girl with a similar shape to yours and she had a terrible time! The poor baby's head ended up stuck and - oh, but you must excuse me! I must not neglect my other guests..."

Smirking, Esmeralda curtseyed and brushed past a stricken-looking Fleur, making sure her own full hips were swaying seductively as she made her way over to where Claude was standing, still surrounded by guests. It had not yet completely sunk in that he was her husband but it was clear to anyone that the Minister was overjoyed to have her as his wife at last.

"My dear?"

"Do we have to stay for much longer, Claude? I would like to rest at home before the banquet tonight," Esmeralda forced herself to use his first name and felt her gorge rise when he grinned with pleasure upon hearing it, "I'm feeling...quite tired."

The men in the throng around them smirked and nudged one another and Esmeralda had to bite her tongue to stop herself screaming when she heard them whispering amongst themselves.

_"Insatiable!"_

_"Shameless!"_

_"She just can't wait for it, the little witch!"_

_"Those gypsies are hot blooded creatures..."_

_"Trust old Frollo to take such a randy bitch for his wife..."_

_"Lucky devil!"_

Outraged, Esmeralda waited for Claude to defend her honour and was horrified when she glanced up and saw the look on his face - he was actually enjoying this! Well, she would give them something to talk about! Squaring her jaw, she grabbed him by his collar and pulled him into a passionate, furious kiss, ignoring the gasps of their guests. Finally, she released him and, taking him firmly by the hand, repeated her request. Claude gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to yank her out of the cathedral by her hair; _How dare she behave this way in a holy place and shame him in front of his peers! _Inwardly seething, he vowed to make her pay for her indecency.

**x X x**

"I can't believe you did that!"

"What else was I supposed to do? Just stand there and listen to them saying those terrible things?"

"You acted like a common whore, a cheap strumpet!"

"I thought you that was what you wanted."

"What?"

"Well, that's what it seemed like...you liked the way those bastards were talking about me, didn't you?"

"Of course not! Listen, you're acting like a child and I think it would be best if-"

"I'm acting like a child? You evil, thoughtless, disgusting bigot! I-"

_"How touching...I might have missed the wedding but at least I'm in time to see the end of the honeymoon!"_

Esmeralda and Claude whirled around at the sound of the strange voice - there, standing in the doorway, was man, whose dark eyes were sparkling with amusement. There was a travelling cloak slung casually over his shoulder and a canvas bag at his feet.

"Jehan!"

"Claude!"

The brothers embraced and Esmeralda found herself staring at the younger Frollo - _he was gorgeous!_

Jehan noticed her and grinned mischievously before bowing and taking her hand, "And this must be the beautiful Esmeralda..."

"I-yes...yes, I'm Esmeralda."

"Enchanted."

_Likewise._

**a/n**** Big thanks to Christine J for her review.**


	5. Chaos

**Chaos**

_'Maybe that's what happens when a tornado meets a volcano...'_**  
**

Jehan Frollo had only been in Paris for a little over a month but he was already the source of much tension and discord in his elder brother's home - and he was enjoying every moment of it.

As a student Jehan had delighted in causing trouble and, although he was now a respected lawyer, this particular aspect of his personality had not mellowed with age - in fact, his desire for chaos was seemingly insatiable. His return had caused a quite a stir amongst the women of the City, who remembered his wild ways and riotous blonde curls, and his old companions - many of whom he owed money to. He was looking forward to reacquainting himself with the joys of Paris but tormenting his pious brother was still his favourite pastime and he threw himself into the task with the vigour and enthusiasm of a true hellion, much to Claude's chagrin.

Despite the initial attraction she had felt upon meeting Jehan, Esmeralda was unimpressed by her brother-in-law and his antics. His presence was, at times, utterly unbearable - particularly because of the effects his behaviour had on her new husband. Goaded by Jehan at every turn, Claude was even more foul-tempered than usual - the benevolence he had felt towards his impudent brother had quickly evaporated as the hordes of debtors, prostitutes and drunkards - his_ friends_ - descended upon the Palace of Justice like a plague of locusts.

Also, the Minister was painfully aware of Jehan's obvious interest in Esmeralda - thankfully, she showed their unwelcome guest nothing but disdain but Claude, paranoid and possessive at the best of times, was determined to keep a close eye on the pair. He knew that his brother took great pleasure in stealing women away from their husbands before discarding them - particularly the wives of important patricians. Angry peasants were easily dealt with but betrayed noblemen were another matter entirely and Jehan's constant womanising had cost the Minister a lot of time and money in the past.

Esmeralda was an entirely different proposition. Jehan was intrigued by her exotic beauty and fiery temperament - and, he had to admit, the taboo of her being married to his brother was very appealing to him, as was the idea of stiff, sanctimonious Claude catching them in a compromising position...

Jehan found it hard to picture his brother in bed -_ or anywhere else for that matter _- with the raven haired temptress but they must have managed to consummate their marriage because, as Claude had proudly informed him on his arrival, Esmeralda was pregnant. Her condition did not dampen Jehan's ardour - in fact, it made the situation even more tantalizing.

Now if only the stubborn wench would stop playing hard to get...

**x X x**

The stubborn wench in question was hiding in the library.

Esmeralda sighed and, relishing the momentary solitude, stretched out on the chaise longue by the window, her eyes closed. She ran her hands over her swollen stomach and sipped the hot milk Madeleine had brought her.

_It won't be long before Frollo the First comes looking for me_, she thought - God, he was suffocating her! As her pregnancy progressed, he became more and more obsessed with her health and well-being - he barely left her side when he wasn't working. He lavished expensive gifts upon her, consulted the neglected books in his study, dragged her to see every quack in Paris and would have actually fed her by hand had she not threatened to shove the spoon down his throat. Most women would have loved that kind of attention from their husbands but for Esmeralda it was an absolute nightmare. His brother's arrival hadn't helped matters. Two Frollos were definitely worse than one and Frollo the Second, as she had dubbed Jehan, was a lecherous pest. She couldn't stand being in the same room as him - his grey eyes would flicker over her body with lazy deliberation and he took every opportunity to brush against her, which drove Frollo the First mad with jealousy. She had spent many a night lying awake listening to Claude as he stomped around the bedroom, ranting and raving about his brother's behaviour. Her stomach rippled as the child moved inside her and she laughed, her face glowing with sudden happiness. It wouldn't be long now...

"So here you are!"

Claude stood in the doorway, beaming with pleasure at the tender moment between his beloved wife and unborn child. Esmeralda mustered a strained smile in response and struggled to haul herself upright.

"I'll be glad when he's finally born," she grunted, her hands pressed to the small of her aching back, "I'm so sick of feeling fat and tired!" Claude knelt at her feet, massaging her swollen ankles with firm but gentle fingers.

"Nonsense - you are as lovely as ever. Besides, what makes you so sure that it will be a boy?" he asked, his voice bubbling with barely disguised mirth, "It could be a girl - a girl with beautiful green eyes, like her mother."

Esmeralda snorted and rolled said eyes dramatically, "Believe me, I know; only a boy could cause this much trouble and discomfort! Aren't you and your brother proof of that?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Claude feigned innocence and allowed his hands to roam slowly upward, lightly caressing the curves of her calves. Esmeralda wrinkled her nose as his fingertips tickled the tender skin on at the back of her knee, "Jehan may be a demon but_ I _have always been a paragon of virtue."

"I pity the unfortunate woman who gave you life," she replied curtly and deftly tucked her legs beneath her so as to avoid his increasingly salacious ministrations.

His erotic endeavours foiled, Claude frowned and got to his feet. "Do not mock me woman," he hissed, the sadist inside him enjoying the look of alarm on her face, "I am your husband and I _will _have respect."

Esmeralda's eyes narrowed in defiance and she glared up at Claude, jaw squared as she prepared to do battle with him once again, "I will give you respect only when you have earned it _husband_." This last word was spoken with such venom that the Minister was momentarily taken aback. He quickly regained his composure and, as expected, his wrath was terrible to behold. Esmeralda shrank at the sight of his crazed eyes and flared nostrils - she held her breath and waited for larva, fire and brimstone to pour from between his lips.

Suddenly, his long, pale fingers were biting into her shoulders as he pulled her to her feet, his lips stretched into a grim, terrifying smile, "You do realise that I cannot allow such insolence to go unpunished..."

"You wouldn't hurt me," Esmeralda's voice shook but she stood her ground, determined not to let him get the upper hand. She cupped her stomach, hoping the gesture would not go unnoticed.

Claude smirked and reached down to cover her hands with his own, "If you were not carrying my child, I would make you pay dearly for this...as it is, perhaps we should put that vicious little mouth of yours to work." He pulled her towards him and Esmeralda's face twisted as she felt his hardness pressed against her loins.

"You _disgust_ me!" she spat, the fire in her emerald eyes simmering as she realised his intentions.

"Go down on your knees," he murmured, tracing her lips with his spidery fingers. His voice was low and calm but Esmeralda was not deceived - she was all too aware of his changeable moods. Under normal circumstances she have would fought him with all her strength but she could not endanger the unborn child within her.

As much as it pained her to concede defeat, she knew she had no choice.

**x X x**

Meanwhile, Jehan had just arrived back at the Palace of Justice and was looking forward to catching up on some much needed sleep.

He had spent the previous night drinking and gambling at La Falourdel's before indulging in a ménage à trois with two enthusiastic young whores - they were quite a find, considering that they both had most of their own hair and teeth. He grinned ruefully as he mounted the staircase and hazy images of the previous evening's delights flooded his pounding head. The only downfall was that he had all but exhausted his funds but, no matter, he would soon remedy that...with a little help from dear old Claude, of course!

Jehan ambled along the corridor, yawning loudly as he ran his fingers through his tangled curls. In his youth he had been a dab hand at scrounging money from his doting but stern brother. The Minister would lecture him as he handed over the money with a long-suffering sigh but Jehan always managed to turn on the charm and get what he wanted without severe retribution. However, times had changed and he was no longer that cherubic student and as for Claude...well, somehow he seriously doubted that he would give in quite so easily this time. It couldn't hurt to try though.

Stifling another yawn, he poked his head around the nearest door...and was pleasantly surprised by what he discovered.

_There was his brother's beautiful wife...on her knees with her mouth full of cock._

He took a small step back, ensuring that he was partially hidden from view, and took in the titillating scene. Esmeralda's thick raven locks cascaded down her bare shoulders, her eyes were closed and her luscious lips were stretched around her lover's erect member. Jehan's stomach turned as he realised that it was his brother - for a moment he thought he had caught the gypsy with a secret paramour - but his revulsion soon subsided when, acting on an inaudible order from her husband, Esmeralda suddenly rose to her feet and began to undress. Jehan couldn't believe his luck - she was an absolute goddess!

Her brown skin glistened with fresh sweat and her naked breasts were firm and round, changing shape slightly when she raised her arms; oh, they were the juiciest pair of apples he had ever seen! His eyes flickered greedily over her body; the swell of her stomach - _full of his brother's brat_ - the delicious curve of her hips, her long, shapely legs...

Claude murmured something and, to Jehan's delight, Esmeralda turned to display her fabulous arse, which was as beautiful as the rest of her body. Needless to say, Jehan was now even more determined to seduce her - she was, without contest, the most stunning creature he had ever seen. To fuck her and then leave - as he had done so many times before - would be the perfect end to his stay in Paris and, if she warmed to him and welcomed his attentions, he would certainly be looking forward to his next visit.

After once last lingering look, Jehan left and retired to his chambers, already formulating a plan. He had been reluctant to stay any longer for fear that his brother would follow Esmeralda's example and end up naked...and that was not something Jehan, exhausted and wine-sick, wanted to see.

_Ever._

**a/n I am aware that I may have butchered Jehan's character - however**** in the book he is wild, reckless and spoilt. So who knows how he would have turned out if he hadn't been killed? ****I am a huge fan of the book and the Disney film is one of my favourites from when I was a child so I like to use elements from both in my stories. Thank you to all my reviewers - hope this chapter wasn't too smutty for you all...more Frollo/Esmeralda goodness to com****e! Lyrics are from 'Love the Way You Lie' by Eminem and Rihanna.  
**


	6. Death

**Death  
**

As dawn broke over the hills surrounding Paris, Esmeralda yawned and stretched luxuriantly, wincing slightly at the soreness slowly blossoming between her legs. It was a good sensation, the result of a long night of vigorous lovemaking.

She snorted at the thought - what transpired between these sheets could hardly be called _lovemaking_ - but she could not deny that Claude certainly knew his way around her body. He had managed to abstain from the delights of the bedroom for several months, unwilling to do anything that might endanger their unborn child, but the events of the previous day had aroused him so much that he could no longer resist her. It had been a long time for both of them and Esmeralda had enjoyed the events of the previous night as much as her husband, reluctant as she was to admit it.

She purred and caressed her stomach with a slow, content smile as Claude emerged from beneath the covers beside her. He ran his fingers through his tousled hair before turning to his wife with a rueful grin, "Good morning...how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Esmeralda replied evenly, trying not to stare at his nakedness as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and began to gather up his clothes, discarded and scattered in the heat of passion. She failed miserably, her eyes devouring every inch of his body. Taut, sinewy muscles rippled under his alabaster skin and she shuddered deliciously, remembering how easily he carried her in his arms...she swallowed and shook her head briskly, her raven curls glinting in the morning sunshine.

_He's an evil bastard and I detest him! _

Right on cue, he turned and dazzled her with a charming - _disarming _- smile.

_God, why does he have to be so bloody...so bloody what exactly? He's awful. End of story.  
_

Esmeralda cleared her throat and scratched her head, trying to dispel the troublesome thoughts vying for space in her already cluttered mind, "I was thinking of visiting Quasimodo today."

Claude stooped over the porcelain wash-basin and began to splash cool water into his face, "Good. I may stop by myself later in the day if time permits."

"I think he would like that. He's been feeling a little down lately."

"Well, just make sure you take Madeleine with you - I don't like the thought of you being out alone in your condition."

She rolled her eyes, repressing a shiver as he stooped to plant a light kiss on her stomach, "Is your brother going out this morning?"

"Hopefully!" the Minister laughed as he picked up his chaperon and made his way towards the door, "I know he can be difficult but he's only going to be here for a few more days. You will soon have my undivided attention once again. I promise."

Esmeralda sank into the pillows with a sigh of relief as he left. She couldn't wait to get out of the Palace of Justice for a few hours.

_Fresh air, Quasimodo, peace and quiet - and not a Frollo in sight!_

_Bliss! _

**x X x**

The streets were loud, foul-smelling and bursting with life - just the way Esmeralda liked it. She laughed happily, her eyes darting in every direction as she drank in her surroundings with obvious relish. Madeleine was equally enchanted - she had developed a close bond with Esmeralda and was glad to be spending the day away from her onerous duties. The pair giggled like small children as they strolled along the riverbank, eating some cakes that Cook had made especially for their outing. They made their way towards the town square, gazing up in awe at the splendour of Notre Dame.

"That's La Falourdel's place," Madeleine whispered suddenly, indicating a seedy-looking tavern leering at them from the darkness of a nearby alleyway. Although the City was bathed in the warmth of the mild autumn sun, Esmeralda felt a shiver run down her spine and pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

"The Master's brother has been there almost every night this week," Madeleine murmured, clutching her basket as though she feared it would be snatched from her arms at any given moment.

"That doesn't surprise me," Esmeralda replied, her voice dripping with disgust as she impatiently plucked at her companion's elbow, "Let's go...Quasimodo will be wondering where we are."

"And we can't disappoint dear Quasimodo, can we?"

Esmeralda's heart sank as Jehan, his murky eyes gleaming like those of a dangerous predator, stepped from the shadows, his lips quirking in a twisted semblance of a smile.

"Do you mind if I join you? I haven't been to the cathedral since I was a lad."

"You've had been back for more than a month - I would have thought that was more than enough time to visit Notre Dame," Esmeralda frowned, taking Madeleine's arm, "Or have you been too busy spending my husband's money in places like that?" She nodded in the direction of La Falourdel's and wrinkled her nose as she picked up the stench of stale alcohol surrounding Jehan.

"I know, I know...says a lot about the state of my soul, doesn't it?" he shrugged, "Well, perhaps I can remedy that today, although I'm sure the Archdeacon will be just as displeased to see me. I spent most of my youth being forced in and out of his confessional box by my sainted brother."

Esmeralda scowled and began to drag Madeleine in the direction of the Cathedral, "Well, come along if you must...I can't stop you."

_"You're right...you can't stop me..."_ he thought as he followed in their wake, happily watching the sway of Esmeralda's body as she strode ahead, _"Today, gypsy whore, you will be mine..."_

**x X x**

Esmeralda laughed, waving Quasimodo away as he hurried to help her into a nearby chair.

"Quasi! I'm fine, really..."

She smiled indulgently and placed his hand on the swell of her stomach. Quasimodo's eyes shone with tears of joy as a fleeting motion skittered beneath his palm - this child was the result of the union between the two people he loved most in the world. He already knew he would adore it...

"Oh, Esmeralda! You'll be a wonderful mother," he whispered reverently as the life within her continued to stir at the touch of his hand.

"How touching..." Jehan appeared in the doorway of the bell tower, a cynical smirk on his arrogant face and Madeleine's basket in his hand, "I feel slightly nauseous."

Esmeralda got to her feet with a groan, "What are you doing up here? And where is Madeleine?"

"She got talking to a relative of hers downstairs. Her aunt, perhaps?" Jehan put the basket on the floor and made his way into the room, his curiosity momentarily piqued by Quasimodo's wooden miniature of Paris. The tension in the small room was intense and Esmeralda felt her patience waning as she willed him to leave.

"Jehan...I was hoping to spend some time with Quasimodo..."

He grinned maliciously, "Ah, Quasimodo!" The hunchback seemed to shrink as his childhood tormentor threw a seemingly amiable arm across his shoulders. Jehan cackled in delight at his victim's discomfort, his bloodshot eyes silently goading Esmeralda, who glowered back at him.

"I've missed you Quasi...tell me, old friend, how long as it been since someone jabbed a pin into that magnificent hump of yours?"

"Leave him alone," Esmeralda hissed, helping Quasimodo to his feet, "We both know this wasn't the reason you followed me here."

"As sharp as she is beautiful!" he replied in a thick voice, "You really are perfect, aren't you? My brother is a lucky man."

Jehan's gaze lighted upon a bottle of wine on the makeshift shelves behind her head but Esmeralda was having none of it. She stood in front of him, her blazing eyes daring him to defy her, "Go home to bed, Jehan...you're still drunk from last night and I don't think Claude would appreciate the way you're behaving. Quasimodo and I are not here to be abused."

"I'm not going to bed...not without you anyway..."

Without warning he leapt at her but was not prepared for the hunchback's sudden intervention. Quasimodo swept Esmeralda out of harm's way, his powerful arms blocking the attack. Jehan stumbled, catching his foot on the basket, and fell backwards - there was nothing to be done. He disappeared from view with a muffled yelp of pain, tumbling down the many stone steps before landing with a dull thud at the bottom.

Esmeralda and Quasimodo were frozen to the spot but, upon hearing the shocked voices of those below, they edged slowly toward the doorway and peered down into the gloom of the stairwell. The face of the Archdeacon loomed out of the darkness, pale with horror.

"He fell - we couldn't do anything...he fell..." Quasimodo stuttered, pointing at the basket which rested at the Archdeacon's feet.

Esmeralda felt her throat constrict as the clergyman held up his shaking hands - they were stained red, drenched in fresh blood...

"He is dead."

**a/n Many thanks to all my readers - especially Christine J, whose last review was so lovely! Merry Christmas and Happy New Year everyone - more to come soon!**


	7. Aftermath

**Aftermath  
**

The funeral was finally over.

The doors of the family mausoleum were locked and the citizens of Paris had dispersed, herded away by the Minister's guards. The crisp night air buzzed with talk of foul play - which was not unexpected, considering the mysterious circumstances surrounding Jehan Frollo's sudden demise. Many were of the opinion that the gypsy and the hunchback had done away with him, despite the coroner's ruling of accidental death and the Archdeacon's condemnation of such malicious rumours.

Esmeralda sat at her window, plucking moodily at the thick, black material of her mourning gown. She was hot, tired, miserable and had been plagued by a dull pain in her lower stomach all evening. This, however, was the least of her worries. Claude had locked himself in his study the moment they had returned from the cemetery and was refusing to see anyone - she had told him everything and was afraid that he was taking the rumours seriously.

It really _had _been an accident after all.

_But you wanted it to happen, didn't you...and you're not sorry he's dead...__  
_

"No, I'm not," Esmeralda murmured to herself, "He deserved it."

It was true. In fact, she suspected that Jehan's death had been merciful in comparison to what could have happened to him. He probably would have ended his days mad and pox-ridden, rotting in some godforsaken tavern with a knife in his throat.

She pictured Jehan's blood pooling on the Cathedral floor, staining the marble tiles and the hands of the Archdeacon.

_Yes...if there were any justice in the world he would have gotten much worse..._

"Esmeralda?"

She turned from the window, the morbid thoughts fleeing into the darkest recesses of her mind - Madeleine stood in the doorway, her blue eyes wide with alarm and fear.

"What is it?" Esmeralda was immediately concerned by her friend's obvious distress and flew to her side, "Is it Claude?"

Madeleine nodded and began to gabble in a hysterical whisper, "I heard him...the door was open...he was saying the most terrible things..."

"Calm down Maddy!" She held the maid tightly, trying desperately to comfort her, "Tell me what he said. Was it about Jehan?"

"I think you'd best come and hear it for yourself..."

**x X x**

The two women tiptoed along the shadowy corridor, their bare feet slapping on the cold stones as they made their way toward the hall. The huge wooden doors were indeed slightly open - Esmeralda stepped forward, pushing Madeleine behind her, and peered through the crack, her heart pounding violently. The Minister was slumped before the roaring fireplace, intently studying the dance of the the flames as he murmured to himself.

"Cain...what have you done with your brother?"

Esmeralda turned to Madeleine, a quizzical look on her face, but the maid looked equally confused.

What have I done with him, Lord? I have taken him in, nourished him, reared him, loved him, idolized him and...killed him! They have dashed his head open upon the stones of your House and it was all because of me...my fault..._my fault_..."

There was a sudden choking sound. Esmeralda started forward but her companion caught her by the sleeve of her gown.

"He's weeping!" Madeleine hissed urgently.

The gypsy was incredulous - she had thought him incapable of tears - but Claude's next outburst was even more shocking.

"No...not my fault. Not because of me...because of this woman, because of_ her_!"

Esmeralda backed away from the door, reeling as though she had been physically attacked. Madeleine gasped as a sudden splash of warm water suddenly gushed onto her feet and her mistress clutched desperately at her shoulders.

"Maddie...I think the child is coming..."

**a/n Thanks to GothikaFaerie and ChristineJ - I'm really enjoying writing this and am so glad you like it! Frollo's speech about Jehan's death can be found in '****Notre Dame de Paris' by Victor Hugo - Book XI, Chapter 1 - 'The Little Shoe.'**


	8. Pride

**Pride **

It was close to midnight.

Madeleine stood by the open front door, wringing her hands in desperation - she had been ordered to watch for the midwife's arrival. It was a wild and stormy night and the streets outside the Palace of Justice were deserted. As the cold wind howled, she shivered, feeling chilled to the bone, and drew her shawl closer about her shoulders.

A ragged scream rang out from upstairs and the new maid, Eloise, burst out of the kitchen, followed closely by the cook, who was struggling to carry a large bowl of steaming water and a bundle of clean towels.

"How is she?"

Madeleine winced as she was answered by a heart-rending scream from above their heads. Eloise opened her mouth to speak but was shoved forward by the cook, Marie, who was sweating profusely, "Get a move on Lo! If the midwife doesn't turn up soon, we may have to do the delivering!" The young maid blanched visibly and, with an apologetic glance in Madeleine's direction, hurried upstairs, urged on by the older woman's curses.

"Bloody hell," Madeleine hissed through clenched teeth as she hopped from one foot to another, "How, I wish this night was over!"

"There's a long way to go yet I'm afraid, my girl!"

Stifling a yelp, Madeleine whirled around and came face to face with a plump old woman, who flashed her a brown-stained grin in greeting. Without waiting to be invited in, the stranger stepped lightly over the threshold. Madeleine felt her terror subside and pursed her lips at the puddle of muddy rainwater spreading on the previously pristine marble tiles at the woman's feet.

"Madame Durand?"

The midwife smiled and shook her thick white hair free from the hood of her cloak, "That's me, my dear. I apologise for my late arrival but my previous engagement took a bit of a turn for the worst unfortunately."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Oh, bless your heart! Not very pleasant, to be sure, but it's a common occurrence...now, how are things progressing here?"

Madeleine shrugged, "I don't know to tell you the truth, Madame but-"

As if on cue, Esmeralda let out a high-pitched cry and Durand sprang into action. She thrust her sodden cloak into the startled maid's arms and disappeared up the staircase, leaving a bemused Madeleine wondering how someone who seemed so frail could move with such sudden haste.

**x X x**

Madame Durand entered the makeshift birthing chamber without knocking and was reassured by what she saw within. Through the open bed-hangings she could clearly see the mother-to-be, who was straining with all her might, glassy green eyes only slightly discernible through a tangle of black ringlets.

"Minister?"

Claude appeared from the shadows like a wraith, his face haggard with anxiety and grief, and clasped the midwife's hand, "Madame Durand..." His speech failed him and he turned to his wife's bedside, where Eloise and Marie were bathing the woman's face and neck with warm water. Claude closed his eyes as another birthing pang struck and Esmeralda groaned, clutching at the damp bedsheets in blind agony. Meanwhile, in silence, the midwife washed her hands and rolled up her sleeves before stooping to peer between the labouring woman's sprawled legs.

"Perfect..." she murmured, reaching up to massage Esmeralda's bulging brown stomach with her wizened hands, "You've done so well on your own...I only need a little more from you..."

Esmeralda moaned weakly, trying to push the midwife's hands away, "No...please...I can't do it...I'm so tired..."

"I know, I know," Durand crooned, "But it'll soon be over and then you can rest...I promise." She began to push down on Esmeralda's stomach and motioned to Madeleine, who had just appeared in the doorway, to do the same, whilst Eloise emptied the contents of the midwife's basket. Claude was looking out of the window, his fists clenched so tightly that his white knuckles threatened to burst through his skin.

"Madame, I need more water," Marie informed Durand, in an uncharacteristically low voice, and hurried from the room following a nod of encouragement from the midwife. Esmeralda grunted and, under Durand's direction, Eloise and Madeleine placed their hands underneath her, supporting her as she prepared for the final stage of labour.

"I can see him..." Durand announced, a triumphant smile lighting up her craggy features, "He's coming. I won't be long now." On hearing this, the Minister turned from the window and his inner conflict was visible for all to see - fear and dismay pitted against love and hope. He took Esmeralda's hand and felt his heart stop for a glorious moment when he was rewarded with a breathtaking smile.

"Claude..."

"I'm here." He felt the terrible weight of Jehan's death ease a little and the sickness at the pit of his stomach dissolved at the sight of her, the woman he adored, beaming up at him through her pain.

Madeleine caught the old woman's eye and smiled tearfully. "This is wonderful..." she whispered, watching the rippling motion of Esmeralda's stomach in awe. Eloise was pale and looked relieved when Marie returned and handed her the bowl, prompting Durand to warn her, "If you're going to throw up, please go outside...and don't use the bowl, we need it!"

"He's coming," the old woman repeated, a sudden urgency in her voice, "You girl, Madeleine is it? Good - get the knife from my basket. And make sure it's clean, will you?" Madeleine examined the implement closely, watching over her shoulder as she did so.

"One last push should do it," Durand struggled to her feet, wheezing loudly, and snatched the towels from Marie's arms and thrust them at Eloise, "One last big push...come on..."

Under the midwife's orders, Marie and Madeleine bustled around the room, gathering up the items they knew would be needed when the birth was over - Eloise, Madeleine noted wryly, looked positively green as she stood at Durand's side, watching as the child made his way into the world.

"Come on Esmeralda...you can do it..."

Face red and shiny with sweat, Esmeralda began to push with the last of her strength, as a final scream, hoarse and joyous, erupted from her throat and mingled with the frantic cries of her newborn child. Madame Durand scooped up the infant, slick with blood and mucus, and hastily swaddled him in a warm, clean towel before turning to the proud parents.

"You have a son."


	9. Prejudice

**Prejudice**

_"You have a son."_

Esmeralda managed a weak smile before sagging, exhausted, into her husband's arms. Concerned by her fragility, Claude tore his ecstatic eyes away from the squalling bundle that was his son and looked at Durand for guidance. The midwife chuckled and shook her head, "She will be fine. Let her rest."

The Minister sighed in relief and stooped to plant a light kiss on Esmeralda's damp brow, "You did beautifully, my darling..."

"She did indeed," Durand nodded her approval before turning her attention to the matter at hand, "Now, if you'll just give me a few moments to clean and prepare the child..." She placed the infant on a nearby table as Marie ensured that the midwife's instruments were at hand. Madeleine wiped away tears with the back of her hand as she struggled to undo Durand's expert swaddling. "He's _perfect_," she murmured to Eloise, whose nimble fingers made light work of the job.

Durand was preparing the reeds, which would be used to remove any remaining mucus from the child's mouth and nose, when a sudden shriek of horror caused her to drop them. She rushed over to the source of the sound - Eloise was weeping in Marie's arms, the soiled swaddling at her feet.

"What's wrong with you?" Durand demanded furiously. Eloise continued to sob and Marie could not meet the midwife's eyes so she turned to Madeleine, who was clutching the wailing child to her chest, tears dripping from her nose and cheeks onto his dark head.

"Madeleine...what is it?"

The maid sniffled and, with a deep intake of breath, placed the child in Durand's arms. The midwife held the infant up and was shocked by what she saw - the newborn looked to be healthy in every aspect but one.

_His left leg._

His left leg was useless; withered and malformed.

Durand regained her composure almost immediately - it was an awful sight but, in over forty years of midwifery, she had seen much worse than this. The hardest part in this particular case would be convincing the parents that she was right - many people had their children killed at birth because of ridiculous superstitions. She hated to think of the hundreds of 'imperfect' children she had been forced to sew into tiny death shrouds simply because they were born into bigoted families. It was a common practice.

Marie seemed to be thinking along the same lines as the saddened midwife. "Shall I fetch a sheet?" she whispered, pushing the inconsolable Eloise into a nearby chair.

Before Durand could answer, the Minister was at her side, his face twisted in horror at the sight of his son's deformity. He reached out with a shaking hand but could not bring himself to touch the child.

"God..." he hissed, tears springing to his eyes as he turned away.

The old woman handed the infant to Madeleine and, taking Claude gently by the shoulder, manoeuvred him towards the door, speaking in a hushed whisper so as not to disturb Esmeralda. "I know this is hard for you sir, but the child is quite healthy..."

"Healthy!" Claude spat, "How can you call _that_ healthy?" He waved his hand wildly in the direction of his son, who Madeleine was tending to.

"But he is! His leg...well, it's something he will be able to live with," Durand explained calmly, "That is...if _you_ can live with it."

The Minister's eyes widened as he realised what the midwife was suggesting - he could have the child..._dealt with_...quickly and quietly. It would be a merciful end and Esmeralda would never know the truth; they would tell her that the child was weak, that he had died soon after birth. There would be other opportunities...after all, she was young and they could try again in time. But...could he bring himself to do it?

Durand roused him from his dark thoughts, "It's your choice, my Lord, but I would advise you to think very carefully about this."

"About what?"

They turned to see Esmeralda, wide awake and beaming at them from the bed. Her face was a little sallow but otherwise she looked well, her inquisitive green eyes darting from person to person.

Claude managed a taut smile in return, "Nothing, my dear...how are you feeling?"

"Tired and sore," she sat up and stretched, wincing at the pain that engulfed her aching body. She caught sight of Madeleine, who was trying to hide behind Durand, and gasped in delight, "Oh! My baby...give him to me!"

At the sound of Esmeralda's voice, Eloise got to her feet and opened her mouth as if to speak but was quickly stifled by Marie.

"He needs to be tidied up a little first," Durand cut in, taking the child from Madeleine's arms, "You can see him in a moment." With Madeleine's help, the midwife bathed the wriggling infant and anointed him with cleansing oils before cutting the umbilical cord with her sharp silver knife. She then swaddled him in clean linen and handed him to his mother, who murmured her thanks in a husky voice. There was silence as Esmeralda greeted her son for the first time.

"Hello little one," she whispered, her beautiful face shining with joy, "I can't believe you're finally here!" She laughed and ran her fingers through his black curls. Esmeralda began to undo the swaddling, as eager as a young girl opening a long-awaited present.

"My son..."

Eloise could not contain herself any longer. She slipped out of Marie's arms, choking on her tears, and would have snatched the infant from Esmeralda had Durand not managed to catch her at the last moment. Frustrated and terrified, the maid's screeches cut through the company with the blunt fury of an axe.

"That is no child, Madame; it is a monster!"

Esmeralda frowned but did not look up as Durand managed to subdue the hysterical young woman before handing her over to Marie and Madeleine, who frog-marched her out of the room. The Minister was crazed with anger and would have followed, with the intention of thrashing the foolish wench, but his concern for Esmeralda restrained him. He held his breath - and sensed those around him doing the same - and watched as she continued with the task at hand, seemingly deaf to Eloise's outburst.

"My beautiful little boy," she cooed again, putting the linen sheet aside. Once he was uncovered, Esmeralda poured over every inch of him; her eyes widened slightly when they came to rest upon his leg but, otherwise, she did not acknowledge it. Finally she looked up, beaming with pure happiness, and announced in a proud voice, "He's perfect."

Esmeralda's fierce, defiant eyes dared them to contradict her and, when no one spoke, she smiled and held her son close. He squirmed and nuzzled against her and, acting on instinct, she began to unlace the bodice of her nightdress. Claude cleared his throat, trying desperately to take control of the situation. "Shall I send for a wet-nurse, my dear?" he asked, licking his lips involuntarily as he caught sight of her swollen bosom.

"Thank you but no..." Esmeralda squeezed one of her breasts, deftly catching the drop of milk that oozed from her nipple with her finger. She then ran her finger around the child's gaping mouth, laughing delightedly as he smacked his lips together in surprise, "I want to do it myself."

Durand nodded vigorously, obviously approving of her client's enthusiasm, and hurried to Esmeralda's side to help. Together, they managed to guide a nipple into the infant's mouth and were rewarded when he began to suckle greedily. Claude felt his heart leap at the sight...and then sink horribly...

The child's right leg was kicking lustily but the left hung limply, wasted and abnormal...

He blinked back tears of anger and grief as Esmeralda caught his eye. She looked overjoyed; he wished he could share her happiness.

"I'll leave you three alone to get acquainted," Durand said suddenly, shooting the Minister a sympathetic look as she left. The moment she shut the door behind her, Claude began to panic - what if Esmeralda asked him to hold it?

_Him...it's a boy_,_ remember?_

Yes...a boy...my son...

_Our son. _

He swallowed and looked up to see Esmeralda smiling at him. She patted the space beside her on the bed, "Come here...don't you want to see him?"

"See him?"

She laughed, "You look petrified."

"Oh..." Claude strode across the room and sat down gingerly on the bed, peering over Esmeralda's shoulder at the tiny child in her arms.

"He's beautiful, isn't he?"

Frollo studied the infant's blurred features intently, trying desperately not to look at the misshapen leg; the boy's hair was thick and dark and his skin had a golden tint to it. The eyes were a hazy blue but that would soon change; perhaps someday they would be the same startling shade of green as his mother's. What would he look like in a week? A month? Five years?

_If he lives that long..._

He will! The midwife said so!

_We shall see... _

"Claude?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you like to hold him?"

The Minister got to his feet, resisting the urge to sprint to the door, "Soon...I'd better sort things out downstairs. You get some rest."

She smiled and shook her head, "It's okay to be scared. I am."

"I'm not scared. I just-" Claude sighed and shook his head. How could he make her understand? "I love you Esmeralda."

"I know," she murmured, dimly realising that, although his feelings were not reciprocated, she was, at this moment in time, truly happy to be his wife.

He kissed her forehead and withdrew.

**a/n Thank you to all my reviewers - I love you guys!**


	10. Hurt

**Hurt  
**

_'All these blessings all these burns_  
_ I'm godless underneath your cover...'_

For the first month of his life, Nicolas Donatien Frollo hardly left the sanctuary of his adoring mother's arms.

Esmeralda spent hours at a time gazing down at her son, memorising the infant's tiny features as she sang the same songs she herself had heard as a child. The young woman was utterly besotted with her first-born and frequently called Madeleine to her side in order to point out the slightest change in his appearance - the maid was equally enchanted by the child and was the first to notice that his colour of his eyes was slowly fading from bright blue to a light pewter-grey. Quasimodo was also captivated by Nicolas, whose deformity only served to endear him further to the afflicted bell-ringer. Indeed, it was obvious that the entire household had taken him into their hearts, with the exception of Eloise, who had fled the Palace of Justice in fear of the Minister's wrath.

It seemed as though the only person who was immune to Nicolas's charms was his father. The birth of his son had thrown Claude into a deep turmoil and, although he had forced himself to arrange and attend the christening, it had caused him considerable pain. As with the wedding, it seemed as though the entire aristocracy had turned up to welcome the child into the Catholic Church and Claude was forced to endure hours of slow torture at the hands of his peers. The gentlemen were, in turn, unabashedly intrigued and disgusted by the infant's impairment whilst their wives and daughters feigned sympathy whilst sniping cruelly behind their delicate, white hands. Claude detested them, not least because their feelings reflected his own - even choosing a name had been difficult, for he had hoped to follow tradition and give the child his own name but, under the circumstances, this was not possible...

_Claude. _

_Crippled._

_Lame._

The name and its meaning seemed to taunt the Minister with a cruel irony. After much deliberation, he eventually settled on Nicolas, a half-hearted homage to a infamous alchemist he had admired in his youth and allowed his wife to choose a suitable middle name. Quasimodo suggested Donatien, meaning 'gift', which Esmeralda immediately fell in love with, and so the child had a name, albeit not the one his father had hoped for.

Following the humiliating events of Nicolas's christening, Claude locked himself away in his study, emerging only to perform his duties as Minister of Justice. Esmeralda was so enchanted by their son that she barely noticed her husband's absence and Claude was left to be consumed from within by his own dangerous thoughts.

At first, as with everything, he blamed himself for Nicolas's affliction. It was a punishment; it was God's righteous vengeance for the many sins he had committed, for Quasimodo's mistreatment, for Jehan's depravity...what else could it be? The Minister tormented himself relentlessly until it became to much for him to bear and he searched desperately for a scapegoat - someone had to be responsible for this travesty...

At last, in the darkest hour of the night, he singled out the true culprit.

_Esmeralda._

Claude berated himself furiously - how could he have been such a fool, to believe that he could save her from her evil ways? She was a necromancer, sent by Lucifer to destroy his body and soul. The Minister sneered at his own weakness, remembering how easily she had bewitched him. One kiss and he had been willing to burn Paris to the ground, to follow her to the very gates of Hell in hope of more...

Once she had snared him, the malicious sorceress had set about turning the masses against him; even Quasimodo, once as loyal as any trained beast, had fallen under her spell.

_And as for Jehan..._

Claude could not bear to think of his beloved brother, an innocent victim in the witch's bloody vendetta against the forces of good and morality. He had suspected foul play from the beginning but the child's birth had, until now, banished these dark thoughts to the shadowy recesses of the Minister's unhealthy mind._  
_

It was all so terribly clear...

He could not eat - indeed, Claude's only nourishment came from the dog-eared volumes he poured over, as fervent in his pursuit of knowledge as he was in prayer. The books fuelled his hatred, dripping venom into his ear as he tossed and turned, clawing at himself in the nightmarish depths of feverish sleep. One passage in particular had been so viciously underscored by the demented Minister that the aged parchment had been unable to withstand such an assault and was torn in several places.

_'A witch's womb is a place of poison and putrefaction, where only demon spawn can thrive. A seed planted there by any unsuspecting mortal man will only wither and die.' _

Wither and die; the sorceress had indeed succeeded in maiming the child within her but its strength and innocence had been her downfall._  
_

"She did not expect to meet with such resistance," Claude muttered with grim satisfaction, "My seed is strong." He paced the room, his mind racing as he searched for a solution for the problem at hand...the heathen bitch would have to be handled with the utmost caution, lest she suspect and call upon her true master. Claude was sure that the Archdeacon would support him this time...and once her fate was sealed, Esmeralda would burn.

"I will be free from her. Once and for all."

**a/n Much thanks to Silvery Grey and Christine J. The lyrics used are from the song 'Black Black Heart' by David Usher which, in my opinion, perfectly sums up Frollo and Esmeralda as a couple. The alchemist who is Nicolas's namesake is, of course, Nicolas Flamel, who is mentioned as being one of Frollo's idols in the novel, and Donatien was the first name of the much misunderstood Marquis de Sade, who is one of ****my own heroes.**** More to come soon!  
**


	11. Comfort

**Comfort**

_'Next thing, we're touching_  
_You look at me, it's like you hit me with lightning_...'

Esmeralda was unaware of her husband's sudden breakdown; in fact, she was taking full advantage of his temporary absence. She had arranged to meet her oldest friend for the first time in months and was taking Nicolas along with her. Madeleine was helping Marie in the kitchens but Esmeralda was more than happy to go out without her and, as Claude had not ventured out of his study all day, there was no one to enforce a chaperone on her. The streets were bustling with colour and life and she laughed in delight as her son squealed in her arms, drawing indulgent smiles from those around her.

"What your Papa doesn't know can't hurt him..." she said to Nicolas, lowering her voice into a conspiratorial whisper.

When Esmeralda eventually located Clopin Trouillefou, she was unsurprised to find him surrounded by a large audience of giggling children, who were gazing up at the storyteller in his brightly painted caravan, captivated by his act. There was also a small group of women in attendance, each watching the handsome gypsy every movement with lusty eyes - Clopin was well aware of this and a mischievous smile quirking at the corner of his mouth as they preened before him, desperately trying to outdo one another and win his attention.

Esmeralda shook her head, her jade-coloured eyes sparkling with amusement at her friend's antics, and made her way to the side of the caravan, where she waited patiently, Nicolas dozing quietly in her arms. She sat on the small wooden steps, listening intently to the delighted whispers of the children as they watched the performance.

"All greatly rejoiced when they heard this marvellous story but nobody thought of the little white dog, the enchanted son of the beautiful gypsy girl. All of a sudden they heard a baby cry and, when they looked round, they saw a little child lying in the grass. Then was the joy great indeed. The little dog had regained his human shape. So they celebrated marriage and baptism together, and lived in wealth and prosperity till their happy end..."

The crowd slowly dispersed, the children chattering happily as they skipped away after their mothers, several of whom were still gazing wistfully back over their shoulders as Clopin waved them off. He was clearly enjoying the effect he had on the helpless women of Paris. Esmeralda could not resist and, with Nicolas nestled safely into the crook of her arm, she peered into the caravan, stifling a giggle at the sight of Clopin strutting around, obviously pleased with himself.

"You're incorrigible!" she scolded, laughing as he leapt back, startled by her voice.

Clopin pressed a hand to his heart, his eyes rolling dramatically, "Don't do that! God...you nearly frightened me to death!"

"Charming. I've missed you too," Esmeralda retorted sarcastically, biting her lip in order to prevent a broad grin from creeping onto her lips. She failed miserably and, using her free arm, hugged her old friend tightly before stepping into the caravan.

Esmeralda smiled as the heady mixture of many familiar aromas enveloped her, as comforting as an embrace from a loved one. She closed her eyes, savouring the smell with evident bliss, before turning to Clopin who, having noticed her reaction, had waited discreetly until the moment passed.

"I saw your performance...I remember you telling me that story when I was a child."

Clopin laughed, "The Dog and the Maiden? Yes, it seems to be quite a favourite amongst the little ones - they're always badgering me to tell it!" He studied her face with an appraising eye, obviously intent upon uncovering some sign of abuse, and he seemed both relieved and disappointed in equal measure when his search proved fruitless.

"You look well. Life as the Minister's wife seems to agree with you."

Esmeralda frowned, her heart sinking slightly as she realised that Clopin trying to steer the conversation towards Claude - her so-called husband was the last thing she wanted to talk about at this moment in time - but, thankfully, the man's dark eyes suddenly lighted upon the squirming bundle in her arms.

"This must be little Nicolas," Clopin chuckled, a smile of genuine affection almost splitting his impish face in two, "Can I hold him?"

Without waiting for an answer, he swept the child from her arms and held him up in the air, clucking his tongue approvingly as Nicolas, unused to such rough treatment, yowled in protest. Unperturbed, Clopin ran his thin brown fingers through the raging infant's black curls.

"He's a little lion," he announced, looking as proud as if Nicolas had been his own as he handed the child back to Esmeralda, "Well, there's no doubt who fathered him; only Claude Frollo has a temper to match that!"

She forced a smile, "Don't remind me..."

"How is the old tyrant? Is he finding it difficult, not being the centre of your universe?"

Esmeralda scowled as, seemingly out of nowhere, her friend produced one of his many hand-puppets - this one, with its crooked nose and predatory smile, was an obvious caricature of Claude Frollo and had landed Clopin in trouble with the Minister countless times.

"I thought Captain de Châteaupers had confiscated that," Esmeralda said in an irritated voice as Clopin sidled up to her and dangled the puppet above Nicolas's head, holding it just out of the child's reach, "You're going to make him grumpy if you keep teasing him like that."

Clopin ignored her comment, "You didn't answer my question..."

"Why are you so concerned about Frollo all of a sudden?" Esmeralda was tired and exasperated but was still unwilling to use her husband's first name in front of her friend - she was unsure how Clopin would react to it.

"I'm not," he replied shortly, "I care about you, Nicolas and the well-being of our people. So, how did he react when he saw the child's...little problem?"

"You know about that?"

"Everyone knows."

She smiled faintly as Nicolas grabbed at the puppet with his plump hands. "Well...he was shocked...I mean, we all were but..." Esmeralda broke off and, brushing past Clopin, stood in the doorway, the winter sunshine bathing her troubled face with its faint glow, "To tell you the truth, I don't really know how he's taking it. He hasn't talked about it. Not to me anyway." She reached up and gently tapped the wind chimes hanging on the door frame, smiling at the tinkling sound the tiny bells made as they clinked against the stained-glass beads.

Clopin raised an eyebrow, "I take it he doesn't know you're here."

"Of course not. I mean, I've hardly seen him since the christening."

"What?"

Esmeralda shrugged, "It doesn't matter; I prefer Frollo this way, actually. Quiet and out of the picture..."

"In my experience, it's the quiet ones you've got to look out for," Clopin muttered darkly, "You should talk to him."

"Why? If he wants to be moody and secretive, that's his business," she replied, "I thought you would be happy that he's keeping his distance. I know I am."

"It's not as simple as all that...he's a genocidal maniac for God's sake! For all we know, he could be cooking up another of his nefarious schemes and you're probably the only person who would be able to talk him out of it!"

"What makes you think that?"

"Isn't it obvious woman?" Clopin exclaimed, desperately trying to get his point across, "He was willing to burn down the entire city for you; he'll do anything you ask!"

"And your point is?"

"You're so selfish! Don't you realise how much better things have been for us all? You can't let things go back to the way they were - I won't let you!"

Esmeralda whirled around, her flying raven curls catching the glass beads dangling from the trembling wind chimes. Her face was twisted with fury. "Selfish? How dare you! I would never let him do anything to hurt you..._any of you_...but..." she choked on her words and turned away, holding her son tightly to her breast, "God, haven't I done enough? You can't ask me to sacrifice myself like this..."

"_Me?_ I _begged_ you not to go to him that night but you wouldn't listen! No one asked you to be a martyr, Essie; you did that yourself," The gypsy girl's eyes glistened with tears at his harsh words and Clopin sighed deeply, a hand pressed against his furrowed forehead, "I'm sorry...I just don't want to see our people plunged back into the dark days again."

"It's fine...I understand..."

He placed a comforting hand on Esmeralda's shoulder and was reassured when she didn't brush it away, "Listen...there is always a place for you and little Nicolas in the Court of Miracles. If you ever feel like you are in danger, don't hesitate to call on us for help."

Esmeralda felt hot tears course down her cheeks at the thought of her old friends and beloved home, knowing that, as much as she desired it, she could never go back to that life - not without compromising the welfare of her people.

"I know," she managed, mopping her damp face with the sleeve of her dress, "It's just ever since Nicolas was born I've been so...well, happy, I suppose...and I just know this is going to complicate things again." She shook her head and accepted one of Clopin's multicoloured handkerchief with a poignant smile, "You're right though - you always are. If Frollo is losing it again, it's my responsibility to do whatever I can to stop him."

Clopin hugged her tightly, his voice suddenly serious as he gazed down at her, "We appreciate everything you've done for us...don't ever think otherwise."

"Don't be silly," Esmeralda pushed him away playfully, a genuine smile shining through the sadness on her beautiful face, "I'd better go - Madeleine will be sending out search parties if I'm not back for dinner."

He nodded and turning his attention to Nicolas, who was gurgling happily in her arms, smiled down at the child, "You be good and look after you mother, little one - she's the bravest woman I know and you should be so proud of her..."

A few moments later Esmeralda found herself outside of the caravan, looking up at the King of the the Truands, who was standing at the top of the wooden steps. "I'll come and see you again as soon as I can," she promised, her lips curling into rueful grin as the Frollo puppet on his hand waggled its little arms at Nicolas, who responded with an enchanting giggle. She turned to leave but paused, a wistful look in her emerald eyes.

"Oh...I forgot to ask...how is Djali?"

"He misses you," Clopin replied and watched as, with a smile and one final glance in his direction, his dear friend disappeared into the shadows. He sighed sadly and pulled the heavily patched red curtain across the doorway.

"We all do."

**x X x**

Esmeralda arrived back at the Palace of Justice too late for dinner but she was not hungry.

Madeleine, as expected, was beside herself with worry and fussed over the gypsy girl and her son the moment they stepped over the threshold. She was like a mother hen scolding a chick who has strayed too far from the rest of the brood.

"Your dinner is in the kitchen; it'll be cold by now, no doubt, but I suppose Marie could warm it up for you if you asked her nicely."

"Thank you for the offer but I'm fine...could you take Nicolas, please?" Esmeralda kicked off her shoes with obvious relish - even after all this time, she preferred to go barefoot when it was possible, "I think he's starting to feel tired now so you won't have to do much - just put him to bed and keep an eye on him for me. Is you-know-who still sulking?"

Madeleine nodded, taking the child from her mistress's arms with a soft smile, "Minister Frollo is in his study. He sent down a list of instructions for Captain de Châteaupers but otherwise I haven't heard a peep out of him all day."

Esmeralda shook her head, "I need to talk to him. Right, Nicolas has just had a feed so he should be fine for now but if he wakes up hungry, just bring him to me. I'll be in the study with my husband."

The maid's eyes widened as she took the child from her mistress's arms, "I don't think he'll let you in...he won't see _anyone_..."

"He'll see me," Esmeralda replied firmly, determination radiating from every inch of her being - her squared jaw and set shoulders were enough to convince Madeleine, who flashed her friend a wry smile. If anyone could talk - _or knock _- some sense into Claude Frollo, it was the gypsy girl.

"Good luck." She watched as Esmeralda made her way up the stairs before turning to Nicolas, who was gazing up at her, his heavy eyelids drooping, "Come on, little one...lets get you off to bed before it all kicks off."

**x X x**

"Claude..."

The Minister woke with a jolt at the sound of someone tapping on the door of his study. He had been slumped at his desk, trapped in the clutches of another frenzied nightmare, and now every muscle in his aching body seemed to scream in protest as he dragged himself to his feet.

"Claude!"

The tapping was getting louder.

"Damn her!" Claude cursed under his breath. Each time the gypsy girl called his name, his chest tightened painfully; it felt as though she had reached inside and wrapped her nimble fingers around his heart.

"I know you're in there. Just so you know, I'm not leaving until I've spoken with you so you might as well let me in."

His head pounded. Part of him, his treacherous flesh no doubt, wanted nothing more than to throw open the door and take her in his arms, to devour her luscious body and never let her go but...

_What if it was a trap?_

_What if Lucifer himself was there with her, ready to snare his tortured soul?_

"So be it."

Claude took a deep breath and, having first ensured that his dagger was at hand, unlocked the door.

**x X x**

Esmeralda pushed past her husband without looking at him and strode into the study. The only source of light in the small room came from a tiny candle; the gypsy girl squinted into the shadows, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She had never been in this room before and, despite the mission at hand, was intrigued by her surroundings.

The first thing she noticed was the sheer number of books. Thick tomes and battered leather volumes lined the walls and were piled on every available surface. The study was almost bereft of furniture. There was a heavily scarred wooden desk, and chair, and a makeshift pallet set out in front of the small fireplace. This was obviously the Minister's sanctuary, a scholar's haven - there were avian skeletons hanging from the vaulted ceiling, arranged as though in flight, and numerous scientific implements scattered about the study. The only concession to religion was a crucifix nailed to the stone wall opposite the door. It was the sole decoration in the sombre room.

The candle flame flickered as Claude closed the door behind them and, startled by the loud clunk of the lock, Esmeralda whirled around to face him, the fury in her eyes dying as she stood face to face with her husband for the first time in over a month.

She was shocked by his appearance; it was as though he had aged twenty years since the night of Nicolas's birth. His lined face was grey and there were dark shadows under his staring eyes; the all-powerful Minister of Justice, who had seemed so tall and powerful, looked almost as crooked as Quasimodo, and thick black stubble lined his usually smooth jaw. He was naked and his chest, as sleek and white as carved marble, was emblazoned with angry, half-healed wounds. It was as though his flesh had been torn open by the claws of an enraged beast.

"Claude..." Esmeralda gasped at the terrible sight, "What happened to you?"

The Minister indicated the table behind her in answer, where a cruel-looking scourge rested on a bed of books - the leather tips of the lash were stained red with blood. Esmeralda felt a scream of horror rise in her throat but she managed to stifle it and turned to Claude, pity and disgust shining in her eyes.

"Come here..." she murmured, and held her arms out to him, the deep-set loathing she had always felt for him forgotten. In this moment, he was not the evil persecutor of her people - he was a pathetic, wounded creature and he needed her. Claude's eyes were downcast and he shuffled on the spot, looking like a lost child.

"Let me help you."

Esmeralda stepped forward and took him in her arms. He winced slightly but didn't struggle and allowed her to lead him to the fireplace, where she left him sitting quietly as she went in search of hot water and clean towels. When she returned she was surprised to find that he hadn't moved from his pallet - he had his back to her and Esmeralda recoiled inwardly when she realised that the injuries extended all the way around his torso.

She placed the bowl of steaming water on the floor and began to soak the towels, which she then used to clean Claude's wounds. He watched her ministrations listlessly, occasionally hissing through his teeth at the stinging pain.

"Arms in the air, please."

Esmeralda bandaged him up swiftly, leaving the patient with little doubt that she had done this before, before sitting back on her haunches, gazing at him, "There, finished. How do you feel?"

"Much better...thank you," Claude's outward calmness belied his true feelings - his insides were churning and it was all he could do not to leap to his feet and grab the dagger he had hidden underneath the pallet. The gypsy girl smiled gently and reached out to pat his hand. He couldn't bear her closeness...her _smell_...her eyes, like those of a black cat, boring into him...

_She could see into his soul._

He shuddered as, with a smile that was like cold water in the desert, Esmeralda placed her hands on his shoulders and kissed him. He tried to fight it but her mouth was so soft...so warm...a million impure thoughts flooded his mind and fireworks exploded behind his eyelids. He couldn't help it...

_"Esmeralda..."_

Claude pulled her onto his lap, devouring her hungrily as she arched against him, her desperate pants almost deafening him. He plunged his shaking hands into the glory of her cascading black curls and pressed his burning lips to her throat.

_Feeding the demon..._

She wrapped her legs around his waist and he flinched in pain. She sprang away, concern etched on her beautifully flushed face, "I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?" Claude's heart sank. He felt so empty without her weight in his arms, on his lap. He struggled to his feet, preparing to beg and plead, to offer her the world...but the words would not come and all he could do was gaze longingly at her. His grey eyes consumed her desperately.

Esmeralda seemed to understand. She began to undress, slowly revealing, inch by inch, her breathtaking body until she stood naked before her husband, who fell to his knees like a pilgrim granted a vision of the Holy Virgin.

She chuckled and, after pushing him back onto the bed, straddled him, snaring him between her strong brown thighs. Claude marvelled at the luscious expanse of flesh before him and Esmeralda threw back her head as he reached up to caress her breasts with a firm but gentle hand. He cupped them and brushed his fingers lightly over her taut nipples, smiling as she shuddered deliciously above him. He could feel her slick cunt against him and his cock twitched at the thought of hammering it into her wetness - it was maddening...

"Enough of your teasing, wench...I want you _now!_"

The Minister growled and rolled her beneath him, ignoring the pain, both physical and mental, it caused him. Esmeralda gazed up at him longingly and spread her legs, sighing with pleasure when she felt his hard cock pressing insistently against her damp entrance. "Patience," Claude murmured and kissed her, his tongue darting between her teeth, tasting the inside of her mouth.

"Now it's _my_ turn..."

He pushed slowly into her, moaning as her pussy engulfed the head of his cock. _God, she was already so wet..._

Unable to hold back any longer, he drove his cock into her, grinning as she yelped and dug her nails into him, before suddenly pulling away, withdrawing completely. She whimpered and wriggled beneath him, mad with longing, until he entered her again. Her engorged clitoris was so sensitive and Frollo knew it! He groaned and began to pound into her, grinding his pubic bone against the swollen nub. She bellowed until she was hoarse and wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into her core.

"Yes!" Esmeralda hissed, biting into his shoulder, "Oh, yes!"

He thrust into her, trying desperately not to lose control, and buried his face in her breasts, which were slippery with perspiration. Her hands were tangled in his damp hair as he took one of her hard nipples in his mouth, whilst pinching the other between his finger and thumb. Esmeralda giggled lustily, trying to imagine what it would be like to have her son and her husband suckling on her at the same time. The thought aroused her even more and she raised her hips to meet Claude's frantic thrusts, loving the complex, almost unbearable, sensations. Her pussy seemed to burn, tightening around the Minister's thick cock, and Esmeralda clung to him as her orgasm hit, a ragged scream tearing from her throat. Claude smirked as the gypsy writhed beneath him, her juices gushing around his cock, and, gripping her quivering shoulders, he began to thrust into her dripping cunt, harder, faster and deeper than before.

His climax came quickly, almost painfully, like a punch in the gut, and Claude arched his back, groaning out his pleasure to the world as he spurted inside her, his sharp fingernails digging a crescent-shaped stigmata into her brown flesh. Esmeralda gazed up at him with glassy green eyes as he pulled out of her with a shuddering gasp, their juices seeping out to mingle on her silken thigh. Claude slumped beside her and buried his face in her hair, panting heavily.

_"I love you...I love you...God, I love you so much..." _

The Minister felt tears spring to his eyes. He lay beside her for what seemed like hours until he realised that her breathing had slowed and he raised himself up on one elbow to look at her.

_So beautiful..._

She was sleeping, beads of perspiration trembling on her neck and forehead. With her black hair was fanned around her flushed face like a halo and her lips, bloody from his biting kisses, parted, she looked like an angel.

_So deadly...  
_

Claude pressed his face to the damp curve of her neck and, stomach churning, inhaled the slight smell of milk and motherhood. It could not mask her true odour...sex, spices, sorcery...the witch's scent reflected her soul. She was impure. Everything about her was impure.

_He hated himself for being so weak._

_He hated himself for giving into temptation._

_But above all, he hated himself for loving her._

The Minister swallowed and, tears seeping from beneath his eyelids, groped blindly under the pallet until his fingers closed around the handle of his dagger...

**a/n Wow, this chapter took forever! I've had a lot on recently - I got my first tattoo yesterday and found out one of my best friends is pregnant! Happy days! The lyrics used in the last part of the chapter are from 'Starry Eyed' by Ellie Goulding, another song packed with Fresme goodness! Lots of love to Mrs Christine J and Silvery Grey - yeah, Claude is a dick but I hope this chapter makes up for it! Thanks to Anon - well, I guess he's got no excuse now! Clopin's story is a real Gypsy folk tale which I found on Sacred Texts****, a great website which has an amazing archive of myths and legends from different cultures. Check it out! xD  
**


	12. Despair

**Despair  
**

Claude Frollo loomed over the sleeping gypsy girl, a dagger clutched in his sweating hand.

Soon it would all be over.

He would be free and she would be dead...

The Minister shuddered but it was not clear whether the thought brought him pleasure or pain. He gazed down at Esmeralda, his hungry eyes consuming every inch of her until it seemed that her image would be burned into his retinas forever. As he watched, Esmeralda rolled onto her back, revealing the unrivalled beauty of that graceful form. Her breasts, partially veiled by the luxuriant black curls of her hair, quivered as she breathed and her nipples, hardened by the crisp air of the draughty room, were like beads of blood on her dark skin. Could he dare to hope that she was dreaming of him? Claude shook his head - he would not give into her again. Chest heaving, knuckles white from his intense grip on the handle of the dagger, he desperately tried to find the courage to slay her

Esmeralda smiled in her sleep, seemingly all too aware of his torment, and her husband closed his eyes, his face twisted in a rictus of anguish. In that moment he knew that he would sooner burn in the eternal flames of Hell before striking her down.

"I can't do it," he murmured, the hand holding the weapon falling limply to his side, "I can't do it..."

_Gypsy, witch, murderess..._

She had killed his brother and maimed his son but he didn't care, so long as she was his - _body, mind and soul_ - forever.

_"Claude..."_

Her voice was like a caress as she whispered his name and the Minister groaned as she looked at him - _through him_ - with unfocused eyes, caught between dreams and reality. The dagger slipped from his grasp and the sound of the blade striking the floor echoed around the stone walls, ringing like the chorus of a thousand bells. The sudden noise roused Esmeralda from her half-sleeping state and she sat up with a yawn.

"Claude? I thought I heard something..."

Her voice faltered, eyes widening as they lighted upon the incriminating dagger.

"No!" She threw herself from the bed, preparing to fight or flee, but her movement was impeded by the sheets tangled around her legs and, losing her balance, she sprawled at Claude's feet. He stooped to help her but she lashed out viciously, cursing his name as she struggled to her feet.

"Don't touch me!"

"Esmeralda..."

"You were going to kill me!"

He shook his head frantically, beads of perspiration coursing down his forehead. "You don't understand!" Claude protested as he held his hands out to her, desperation etched on his haggard face, "I couldn't do it! I wanted to - I _had_ to - but I just couldn't! Please listen to me...listen!" He grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the door, seemingly oblivious to her frantic struggles, "I know what you are; I've known since the first moment I saw you...but I don't care!"

"What are you talking about?" Esmeralda gasped as a sharp pain shot through her wrist and arm, forcing her to her knees.

"I love you," Claude gazed down at her with a melancholy smile, his hysteria momentarily abated, "I may be damned for it but it matters not...the fiery pit will seem like paradise so long as you are by my side, my sorceress." He released his grip on her, shoulders shuddering as he fought to regain his composure.

"Not this again!" Esmeralda rubbed vigorously at the livid red marks on her wrist, "I am _not_ a witch!"

"Esmeralda, I-"

Her bitter laughter cut through his pleas and excuses, "I can't believe I actually felt sorry for you - I'm such a fool!" Claude opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted again, this time by Madeleine's voice, timid but urgent, and the querulous cries of a hungry infant from the other side of the heavy wooden door.

"I have to go," Esmeralda began to dress hurriedly, ignoring her husband's covetous gaze, "Unlock the door. I have to feed my child."

Claude reluctantly retrieved the key from his desk, "May I see it?"

"It?" She whirled around to face him, her green eyes flashing, "_His_ name is Nicolas!"

"He is my son, as well as yours. I have a right to see him."

"Your son? Ha! You've barely acknowledged his existence since his birth!" Esmeralda snatched the key from his hand, "And why? All because you can't get over your prejudices! It's Quasimodo all over again...no, it's_ me _all over again." Claude winced as she thrust the key into the lock with such a fury that it was obvious she was imagining plunging something sharp into his chest.

Before she left, she turned to him, revulsion and pity mingling on her beautiful face, "If this happens again you will lose us both. There is only so much I can take, Claude. Think about it."

The candle flickered and died as the door clicked shut behind Esmeralda, leaving the Minister in complete darkness, alone and afraid.

**a/n As always, much love and thanks to my lovely reviewers, Christine J and Silvery Grey - you guys ****are, for want of a better word, totally Frollotastic!**** Sorry this chapter took so long - I've got a lot going on at the moment but I will update as often as possible. I'm thinking about writing a oneshot based on this story - it's going to be a kind of 'deleted scene' from Esmeralda's early days in the Palace of Justice so expect lots of angst, drama and S&M! Yum...hmm, well, more to come soon!  
**


	13. Hope

**Hope  
**

_'I'm strong on the surface_  
_ Not all the way through_  
_ I've never been perfect_  
_ But neither have you...'_

It was rather late in the day when Claude Frollo emerged from his study, looking significantly better than he had the previous evening. He made his way to the kitchens and was relieved when a startled Madeleine informed him that Esmeralda was visiting Quasimodo; he had no desire for another heated exchange with his ferocious wife.

"Where is the boy?"

Madeleine's eyes flickered in Marie's direction but the cook pointedly avoided her gaze. The hapless maid sighed inwardly, knowing that Esmeralda would be furious when she got home, and reluctantly led her employer back upstairs to the master bedroom.

"He was sleeping when I last looked in on him, sir..." she murmured as she peered around the door, hoping this would dissuade the Minister from whatever he was intending to do to Nicolas. Unfortunately, the child was wide awake and, upon hearing her voice, began to gurgle happily, clearly anticipating a feed. Claude smirked and pushed past the crestfallen maid, ignoring her gabbled protests as he closed the door behind him.

The moment Madeleine's footsteps faded away, the Minister's gut began to churn. He was alone with his son and he was absolutely terrified! He swallowed and inched cautiously across the room; it was as though the cradle, which Esmeralda had positioned at the foot of their bed, contained some unknown species of reptile, loathsome and poisonous, rather than the _- bruised - _fruit of his _- sinful -_ loins.

Blurred, grotesque images danced before him as he tried to remember how the boy had looked the night he was born - all he could picture was the child's deformity, each version more pronounced, more hideous than the last. Claude stifled a scream and forced himself to take the last few steps towards the cradle, like a doomed soul stumbling in the shadow of the gibbet.

He opened his eyes, looked down and, for the second time in an otherwise bleak life, his heart was stolen away...

**x X x**

Nicolas was beautiful.

Chest bursting with joy and pride, Claude felt hot tears coursing down his face as his son squealed and waved his tiny hands in the air, trying to catch the sunbeams streaming into the room from the window. The child had golden skin and thick black hair, like his mother, but his eyes were grey and his cherubic features were reminiscent of how Jehan had looked as an infant. The thought of his beloved brother spurred Claude on and he scooped Nicolas up, chuckling as the child grabbed at his nose.

"You little ruffian," he chided gently, holding his son at arm's length, "I can see that it is going to be my job to teach you some manners."

The Minister's smile faded slightly as his eyes finally lighted upon the offending limb - it was certainly unsightly, although Claude had to concede that it was not as horrific as he had imagined. Thankfully, the abnormality did not seem to cause Nicolas any pain or hinder his movement. Shame momentarily replaced the Minister's feelings of happiness and he sighed, gazing down at the child, who was babbling incoherently in his arms.

"I am sorry, Nicolas...I am sorry that I have been so foolish."

"Foolish? Oh, I can think of far worse things to call you."

Claude whirled around, his heart in his throat, and was dismayed _- and more than a little elated - t_o see Esmeralda watching him from the doorway.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long," she answered simply as, cooing softly, she stooped and ran her brown fingers through her son's riotous dark curls, "You're very good with him."

He smiled sheepishly, "I've had a lot of experience with children; Jehan was about the same age as Nicolas when our parents died of the plague."

"You raised Jehan?"

"Yes...although I'm afraid that I was rather too lenient with him."

"Well, Quasimodo turned out well under your care; although I think that's more to do with his good nature than your parenting skills," Nicolas began to fret and Esmeralda took him in her arms. She smiled indulgently as he nuzzled at her bodice, searching avidly for a nipple, "He's hungry."

Claude nodded, trying not to stare as Esmeralda reached into the neckline of her gown for a breast, "Can I stay? Or would you like a little privacy?"

She shrugged and grimaced as Nicolas began to suckle greedily, "I don't mind. Ouch! Not so hard, Nicky!"

"Voracious little fellow, isn't he?"

"Did you mean what you said last night?"

The Minister arched an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden change of conversation, "What?"

"Do you love me?"

"Yes," Claudes voice was little more than a whisper, "Yes, I love you."

"But you think I'm a murderess?"

"No, I-"

"A witch?" Esmeralda's eyes sparkled as he smiled softly and reached out to cup her face between his hands.

"Oh, most certainly..."

She smirked and, realising that Nicolas had fallen asleep with her nipple still in his mouth, placed the child in his cradle before turning back to Claude, whose steely grey eyes flickered longingly over her body. "I haven't forgiven you," she murmured as she pressed herself against him, enjoying being in the position of power for once in their, for want of a better word, relationship, "Next time you try to hurt me, or Nicky, _I _will be the one standing over _you_ with a knife. And, believe me, I _won't _have a change of heart."

"I see..." Claude replied evenly, not wanting to push his luck any further, "Anything else, my dear?"

"Yes. Get on the bed."

He stared into her face, confused but, as always, eternally hopeful, "What?"

Esmeralda stifled a giggle and adopted a haughty mien, hands on her hips, "You heard me - get on the bed. Now."

Claude wanted to obey but he was not used to being in a submissive role - in_ any_ aspect of his life. He shuffled towards the bed, followed by Esmeralda, whose green eyes gleamed like those of a predatory cat as she pushed him onto his back and straddled him, positively purring with delight. She reached beneath her husband's velvet robes and wrapped her cunning fingers around his stiffening cock, grinning lasciviously as he bucked and groaned beneath her. His hands, trembling with the sheer force of his excitement, crept beneath her skirt and travelled the length of her firm, shapely legs until...

"Oh God, Esmeralda!" She was so hot...so hot and wet. The black curls adorning her mound glistened with dew and Claude moaned as he parted the pouting, dusky lips of her sodden pussy with his finger, "I want you now!"

"Say please..." she ordered, sighing blissfully as she parted his robes, revealing the swollen tower of his manhood, "Say please, Claude..."

"Esmeralda!"

"Claude..."

_"Please! Oh God, please!"_

He squirmed beneath her, his teeth clenched tightly together as she rose up and, with the grace and speed of a hawk dropping from the sky to snare its prey, she impaled herself on his cock. The pleasure was so exquisite that, for a moment, it bordered on pain - Claude's ecstatic scream was muffled by Esmeralda's mouth upon his, biting his lips until her own were stained with blood. She rode him hard, scoring his bare chest with her nails as he arched his back, sending her skyward. She was glowing with exertion, her flashing eyes and tousled, raven mane giving her more than a passing resemblance to an insatiable she-wolf - her feral beauty took Claude's breath away.

_"Yes, yes, yessss!"_

Esmeralda's intoxicating mantra as she came sent her lover into a delirium. He clutched at her desperately, relishing the way her cunt contracted around his cock and the sticky stream of her juices as they trickled down his balls.

_"Christ..."_

Claude's voice was becoming increasingly guttural and Esmeralda, having recovered from her own climax, was eager to return the favour. She pressed down on his shoulders and lifted herself up slightly before dropping down onto his cock, which was sliding in and out of her with the sensual rhythm of her movement. It was the most mind-blowing sensation Claude had ever experienced and Esmeralda watched with a self-satisfied smile as he threw his head back and bellowed her name, filling her to the brim with his seed.

He sighed deeply, his chest rattling with the sheer effort of it, and wrapped his arms around her, enjoying the way her damp curls tickled his nose as she covered him with her body. Caught in a happy tangle of languid limbs and sweat-soaked bedclothes they breathed as one, basking in the afterglow of their passion until a piercing wail penetrated their happy bubble.

"Nicky..." Esmeralda slipped from her husband's arms with a rueful smile and crawled across the bed to retrieve their son, who stopped crying the moment she picked him up, "You just can't stand not being the centre of attention - just like your father!"

Claude yawned and stretched, "Ahem...I'm not the one who used to dance like Salome for a living..."

"Well, _you_ certainly seemed to enjoy it," she shot him a withering glance, "And who _is _Salome anyway? Should I be worried?"

"Of course not!" he rolled his eyes, torn between exasperation and amusement, "She's been dead for about fourteen centuries and besides, I doubt she was anywhere near as alluring as you."

Esmeralda smiled, slightly mollified, "Flattery will get you everywhere."

**x X x**

They lay side by side with Nicolas nestled between them, dozing lightly.

Neither of them spoke - they were content just to be together, listening to the snuffling sounds their son made as he slept. Claude watched his wife from the corner of his eye, delighting in every tiny gesture she made until he could not longer contain himself.

He had to ask her...he had to ask the question had been burning on his lips all evening...

"Esmeralda?"

"Hmm?" She stirred and smiled tenderly, reaching out to run her fingers through his silver hair, "What is it?"

_"Do you love me?"_

The silence was deafening and Claude held his breath, waiting and watching, his hungry eyes never leaving her beautiful face. Coming after what seemed like an eternity, to finally have the answer to his question was as much a relief as it was a crushing blow.

"Oh Claude..." she whispered, her emerald eyes shining with sadness as she traced his features longingly, "No...no, I don't love you...but..."

"But what?"

_"I can't do without you."_

**a/n A belated Valentine's Day present for my lovely reviewers - hope you enjoyed this chapter! I've just started writing the oneshot I mentioned in the last chapter so it will probably be up after this story is finished. Lyrics are from 'Leave Out All the Rest' by Linkin Park.**


	14. Affection

**Affection**

_'There may be something there that wasn't there before...'_

September 1483_  
_

It was the morning of Nicolas's first birthday and the glorious autumnal sunshine streamed through the open windows of the Palace of Justice, its brightness driving Esmeralda to seek the darkness of the cool cavern beneath the bed-covers, where she conversed with her husband in gleeful, conspiratorial whispers, planning for the day ahead.

"I can't believe he's a year old already!" she exclaimed excitedly, beaming down at Nicolas, whose plump hands were tangled in her riotous black curls, "It seems like only yesterday that I first held you in my arms, little one...ouch! Stop pulling my hair, you little bugger!"

Claude laughed but eventually took pity on his wife and, sweeping his son from her lap, began to tickle the squealing child mercilessly. Esmeralda was content to watch them at play, an indulgent smile lighting up her beatific features, for nothing gave her more joy than to see the innocent happiness on Nicolas's cherubic face when his father spent time with him. Despite his initial reluctance, Claude had thrown himself into parenthood with an enthusiasm that touched all concerned - he worshipped the boy and the feeling was, without a doubt, mutual. Indeed, from the moment Nicolas took his first unsteady steps in the bell-tower of Notre Dame, it seemed as though he was determined to follow his father everywhere. He could often be seen stumbling in the Minister's wake, accompanied by either his mother or Madeleine, with his left leg bandaged and supported by a makeshift splint.

_He doesn't let anything hold him back. He's a fighter, like me._

Esmeralda smiled softly at the thought, her heart swelling with pride as she watched her son tottering across the room, clutching at Claude's hand with his tiny fingers. Nicolas still retained the indistinct facial structure of infancy but now, at certain moments and from particular angles, it was easier to pinpoint the parental origins of some of his features, a game which the child's loved ones never tired of. When he pouted or pursed his lips, forehead furrowed in concentration, he was the very image of his father and once, on a secret visit to Clopin Trouillefou's caravan, Nicolas's uncanny resemblance to Esmeralda had astonished the storyteller, who recalled how she had looked at the same age.

"Mama!"

Nicolas held his chubby arms out to Esmeralda, whose delighted smile upon hearing that word threatened to split her face in two - it was, as of yet, the only recognisable word he could say and, every-time it passed his lips, she would cradle him to her breast and reward him with smothering kisses. The child giggled as, true to form, she scooped him up and buried her face in his dark hair, breathing in the incomparable aroma of her son.

_He smelled like milk, honey and pure sunshine...  
_

Esmeralda sighed blissfully and Claude chuckled as their eyes met over Nicolas's head, "It's intoxicating, isn't it?"

"Enchanting," she agreed, as the child suckled contentedly on her finger.

"Yes, you are..." he murmured, taking his wife's hand as he joined her on the bed. The intensity of his gaze almost frightened Esmeralda and, for a brief moment, she felt like a small pebble on a beach, vulnerable and helpless before the vast ocean of emotions raging within the Minister. Her own feelings, if she was brutally honest with herself, were just as complex as his...

Claude felt the change come over her and dropped his eyes, grateful for the distraction that was their son, "Both of you, I mean..._enchanting_..."

Esmeralda smiled, reassured by his awkwardness, and squeezed his hand before changing the subject deftly. "So, Master Nicolas," she addressed her son in a mock-serious tone, "What is the order of the day?"

They laughed when, as if in answer, the child clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, imitating, as he so often did, the noise Claude made when he took his son to see the horses in the stables of the Palace of Justice. Nicolas adored animals and always gurgled with delight when his father took him up on the back of Zophiel, the black stallion, although Marie had almost fainted the first time she saw them cantering around the courtyard.

"His Lordship has spoken!" Claude announced grandly and tucked Nicolas under his arm, "We request the pleasure of your company downstairs in half an hour, my lady. Oh, and I would recommend that you dress sensibly; horses and silk do not mix, as I'm sure you and Madeleine remember from our last equine adventure..."

Esmeralda rolled her eyes, "Well, I think there's little chance of us ever forgetting that particular mishap, what with you bringing it up at_ every_ social function we attend."

Her husband shot her a mischievous grin before making his way downstairs, Nicolas still clucking loudly in his arms.

**x X x**

The fun was well under-way by the time Esmeralda reached the courtyard of the Palace of Justice. She could hear Marie and Madeleine whooping with nervous laughter and the voices of the soldiers, with whom her child was a firm favourite, raised in encouragement. She smiled and shook her head as she heard Nicolas yelling incoherently over the clatter of hooves against the cobbles.

The boy was perched on Zophiel's back with his father behind him and his tiny face was screwed up in a rictus of sheer pleasure as, with the lightest touch of his toe to their mount's side, the Minister silently urged the horse into a brisk trot. He was an expert horseman and Esmeralda loved the way her husband's grey eyes shone with pure happiness when he was sharing his passion with their son. He noticed her watching and, after completing a last short circuit of the yard, rode the stallion back into the stables.

The small crowd of staff and soldiers began to disperse and Esmeralda made her way across the courtyard and into the stables, where, in the shade of the wooden beams Claude smiled down at her from the saddle. Nicolas was babbling happily in front of him and trying to grab the stallion's twitching ears, which did not seem to bother the gentle giant any more than the flies did in summer.

"Come here, you little pest! I think poor Zophiel has had more than enough of your company for one day," she chided gently, ignoring the child's noisy protests as he was handed down to her. Claude chuckled as, having dismounted, he proceeded to remove the stallion's tack and rub him down. Esmeralda watched quietly, enjoying the deft movements of his skilled hands; his gentle manner when grooming the animal never ceased to amaze her.

She reached up to scratch the horse behind his ear and laughed as Zophiel, who was clearly relishing the attention, nickered softly and tried to rest his great weight on his long-suffering master, almost crushing him against the side of the stall.

"Stop being so ridiculous!" the Minister grumbled, lightly slapping the horse's muscular shoulder, "You're supposed to be a fearsome warhorse - not a soft touch!" Zophiel's huge eyes were half-closed in ecstasy as Esmeralda continued her ministrations and Claude threw up his hands in pretend exasperation.

"He's just like you," she commented with a wry smile, "One caress and he melts..."

"The male of the species is forever at the mercy of the female," Claude shook his head and prodded the beast's side, "He's getting fat, aren't you old man? I must try to exercise him on a more regular basis."

"Well...perhaps you need to ride him more and me less..." Esmeralda replied in what she hoped was a steady voice; unfortunately, her attempted nonchalance was marred by the lascivious smirk creeping onto her impish face. Claude's jaw dropped, much to her satisfaction, and she sauntered away, hoping that he would take the hint...

She needn't have worried - Madeleine was crossing the yard and, mere seconds after Esmeralda bundled a squalling Nicolas into the startled maid's arms, she found herself being dragged back into the stables by her panting husband, who was frantically fumbling at his clothes.

Claude thrust her into a nearby haystack and, before she knew what was going on, he had pulled up her dress and plunged his cock into her. She shrieked with delight and wrapped her legs around his waist, not caring if anyone was in earshot of her ecstatic cries. The Minister grinned as he pounded into her, fucking his little filly harder and deeper with each stroke.

Zophiel whinnied, perhaps in amusement at the strange mating habits of humans, and Claude found himself laughing maniacally as a large portion of hay, dislodged by their frenzied lovemaking, fell on Esmeralda's head, giving her husband the momentary illusion that he was fucking a shaggy-haired blonde.

_"Yes, Claude! Yes!"_

_"Oh, Esmeralda!"_

Meanwhile, Madeleine, who hadn't moved since being accosted by her mistress, shook her head in disbelief and turned away, blushing furiously. "He sounds good," she mused, unable to keep the incredulity from her voice as she carried Nicolas into the kitchens, "He sounds _really_ good!"

**a/n Yay for fluffiness! ****Well, things seem to be going well for the little family...I wonder how long that will last! This chapter took longer than expected - I've had a lot going on in my life at the moment but hopefully I will be able to update more frequently from now on. M****uch thanks for the lovely feedback on the last chapter - you guys are the best! ****Zophiel means 'God's spy' - a little useless trivia for anyone who wanted to know. Lyrics are from another of my favourite Disney films, Beauty and the Beast. More to come soon!**_  
_


	15. Confusion

**Confusion  
**

_'I can feel you all around me_  
_ Thickening the air I'm breathing_  
_ Holding on to what I'm feeling_  
_ Savouring this heart that's healing...'_

"You are an incorrigible wench, my darling..."

Claude's lips twisted into a smirk of pure satisfaction as he reached out to pluck an errant strand of hay from his wife's hair. They were still lying in the stables, dishevelled and panting in each other's arms, but, although there were countless things to attend to outside, neither seemed willing to leave. Not just yet anyway.

With a blissful sigh, Esmeralda buried her face in Claude's shoulder, reluctant to let him see her gratified smile or flushed cheeks. It was a far cry from the early days of their 'courtship' and, despite the warmth of the day and her husband's tender embrace, she almost shuddered when she remembered those dark, depraved evenings...the accursed nights when it had seemed as though dawn would never come to release her from his cold, biting fingers...

"Esmeralda?"

The shadows of the past were swept from her mind like cobwebs when she heard the concern in the Minister's voice. She looked up and flashed him a reassuring smile, trying to ignore the way her stomach fluttered at the sight of his grey eyes, glowing with genuine love and adoration for her. When he looked at her in that familiar - _but still so thrilling_ - way, Esmeralda knew that, despite all the pain she had suffered at his hands, Claude would never hurt her again...

_Not intentionally anyway..._

Of course, he had no way of knowing about the unbearable agony he caused her on a daily basis, the invisible wound she nursed alone, forced into secrecy by shame and revulsion. It was as though, with every kind gesture and loving caress, with each dark, dirty fuck, the unsuspecting Minister raked his fingernails across her breast...and one day her tortured skin would split, leaving a gaping cavity from which the gypsy's heart could - _finally _- be stolen away...

Esmeralda could almost see Claude's triumphant smile as he drew the vulnerable, palpitating organ from her chest. Would he love and cherish it? Would he press his lips to it, as he had so often done to the flesh above?

_Or would he break it?_

Oh, it was all so wrong! So impossible! This was _Claude Frollo_, for God's sake, the man who had persecuted her race, her _kin_, for as long as anyone could remember! He ruled Paris with an iron fist, presided over the nefarious implements of the torture chamber and sentenced people to death with such a nonchalant air that it was obviously second nature to him. However, one could not fail to notice - _to admire_ - the way the citizens quaked and bowed their heads in fear and respect when he passed them on the street. Indeed, one of Esmeralda's clearest childhood memories was of gazing up at the Judge on his fearsome black horse and being suddenly overwhelmed by the same sense of awe she had felt upon seeing Notre Dame for the first time. Clopin had dragged her away, berating his ward for her foolishness, but his furious words could not banish the image from her mind. She had found herself intrigued by the Minister, captivated by the power and cruelty he exuded...that disdainful sneer as he glared down at her...his refined hands, suddenly so strong and unyielding as he reined in the high-spirited stallion...those shapely, muscular legs...

Esmeralda cringed away from the memory, horrified by the implication that, perhaps somewhere in the depths of her soul, she had always had these twisted feelings for him...

_Hell's teeth, girl! He's the father of your only child. It's only natural that you feel some sort of attachment to him. You're just...fond of him, that's all,_ she told herself firmly, trying to ignore the way the fine hairs at the nape of her neck prickled as Claude's spindly fingers trailed across her skin. She couldn't help but imagine his voice echoing around her head, challenging her protests in a wry, amused tone...

_Now, now Esmeralda! This is more than that and you know it!_

God, you're so arrogant! And egotistical, devious, manipulative...

_Not to mention intelligent, determined, passionate, challenging...just like you..._

What? No! We're nothing alike!

_Keep telling yourself that, my dear..._

Esmeralda frowned and shook her head, driving the teasing, squabbling voices back into the deepest recesses of her mind. It was Nicolas's birthday and such troublesome thoughts would have to wait for another day. With a rueful smile, she nudged her husband to rouse him from his own daydreams. Claude chuckled softly and, taking her face in his hands, brushed his lips against her bronzed skin, scattering kisses, as light as the touch of a butterfly's wings, from her forehead to the glistening hollow of her throat. Esmeralda's voice was little more than a husky whisper, "Claude...we haven't got time for this..."

The Minister smirked and kissed the corner of her jaw, his cock twitching as her pulse fluttered beneath his lips; she was trembling with the force of her arousal and her eyes flashed beneath their luxurious sweep of black lashes.

"Nonsense, my love..." he murmured, his breath hot against her ear as he caressed her breasts through the flimsy material of her blouse, "I'm the most powerful man in Paris, remember? I can make time stand still for us, if you wish it..."

"I don't think we'll be able to leave here anyway. Not if your head gets any bigger..." Esmeralda muttered as she tried, half-heartedly, to push him away before things got any further out of hand, "Listen, I promised..._Claude!_ Get off me, you animal! _Listen!_ I promised Quasimodo that we would take Nicolas to see him today. And _you_ have a lot of work to do."

Claude ceased his ministrations with a reluctant sigh and gazed longingly at his wife's brown limbs, which were still draped over his lap, "I know, I know; Captain de Châteaupers has a venerable mountain of paperwork that I must look over at some point today. I do seem to have fallen behind on my duties these past few weeks."

"That doesn't sound like you."

"Well, I have been somewhat _distracted_ lately, haven't I?" Claude replied, eyebrows arched suggestively as his fingers danced across the swell of her upper breasts. His salaciousness was rewarded with a face full of hay and, as he struggled to regain his composure, Esmeralda slipped from his grasp and disappeared in the direction of the kitchens, her mischievous giggles echoing around the courtyard. The Minister groaned as, knees cracking, he got to his feet and began to brush the remaining stalks from his robes and hair.

"I'm getting too old for this."

**a/n Lyrics are from 'All Around Me' by Flyleaf. Thanks for the lovely feedback on the last chapter everyone! This is just a short update for now but there is an extra long chapter coming soon, I promise!  
**

**Christine J - I can't wait to read your sexy stable fic - I'm sure it will be awesome!  
Silvery Grey - Yes, I did know about the Marquis's son...it is a cute coincidence, isn't it?****  
Gothika Faerie - You made me blush with your lovely comments!****  
Ryunn Kazan - Thanks for the review, it made me LOL!  
Anon - Damn those crappy 15th century contraceptives!**

**I would be very interested in hearing your opinions on how you'd like this story to end - I've got a pretty good idea on where I want this to go and I have also written a summary for the final chapter but any ideas from my readers would be much appreciated. ^^  
**


	16. Understanding

**Understanding  
**

_'The life I've left behind me_  
_ Is a cold room_  
_ I've crossed the last line_  
_ From where I can't return...'_

It was late in the afternoon and, although the bells of Notre Dame were silent, the tower rang with the delighted laughter of Quasimodo and his visitors. For Nicolas's birthday, the bell-ringer had carved a small toy in the shape of a horse on wheels, which could be towed along by a piece of string. The child had spent the best part of the afternoon toddling after the trinket, his cherubic face glowing with innocent joy as it rolled along the dusty floor, kept just out of reach by the doting hunchback.

Nicolas, realising that his efforts to catch the ever-retreating horse were futile, plopped down and pouted until he was swept up in Quasimodo's burly arms. The bell-ringer chuckled indulgently as the infant squealed and began to tug at the copious red mane of his amiable playmate.

"I'm sorry, Quasi," Esmeralda's apologetic voice rang out from somewhere above his head, "He tends to do that quite a lot!"

"Don't worry, I'm fine!" Quasimodo laughed, having managed to disentangle Nicolas's fingers from his hair, and placed him on the floor beside the table along with the wooden horse, which the giggling child immediately proceeded to chew upon. The hunchback tenderly ruffled the boy's black curls before turning his attention towards the shelves on the wall behind him, "Would you like some wine, Esmeralda?"

"Oh, I'd love some!"

Quasimodo began to pour the wine just as his friend reappeared, having descended the wooden ladder which led to the rafters. "What were you doing up there?" he asked, his bushy eyebrows raised in curiosity as he pushed one of the glasses across the table towards her.

She took it with a grateful nod and sank into the nearest chair, "I just wanted to see the bells...I've missed them."

Quasimodo smiled and reached down to pick up Nicolas, who was tugging at his hose with one hand. The boy giggled and waved the drool-stricken toy at his mother before directing his damp attentions to the diorama of Paris on the table. Esmeralda handed the child one of the tiny, wooden people, which seemed set to go the same way as the unfortunate horse until it was confiscated by the ever-vigilant hunchback.

"He's at that stage where he thinks the best way to investigate anything is by putting it in his mouth," Esmeralda explained, flicking moodily at the figurine of her husband, "Poor Claude...he's probably elbow-deep in paperwork right now with Captain de Châteaupers breathing down his neck." For some reason, she didn't sound genuinely sympathetic to the Minister's plight.

The bell-ringer sighed, "Well...he hasn't visited me in quite a while..."

Esmeralda reached out and took his hand with a reassuring smile. She knew all too well how Quasimodo felt; he was torn between relief and disappointment by the absence of his foster father. Perhaps that was why she felt so relaxed in his company - because, without even knowing it, the hunchback was the only person in her universe who understood how conflicted she was inside.

As she tried to shrug off the sudden blanket of melancholy, heavy and invisible, which had settled over her shoulders, her eyes drifted toward a depressingly familiar figurine...

A smiling girl in a purple skirt holding a tambourine above her head...

_Was my life ever really like that? Simple and peaceful, carefree and uncompromising?_

It was not more than two years ago and yet, to Esmeralda, it seemed as though an eternity had passed since that first night in the Palace of Justice. At twenty one, she was still a young woman but sometimes she felt as old as the foundations of Notre Dame.

_I remember..._

Flashing eyes of jade, bare feet and bouncing curls, the scarlet gown artfully caressing her ripe, naked curves...

_I was La Esmeralda, the beautiful gypsy girl who ensnared the hearts and souls of every man in the screaming, pulsating crowd at the Festival of Fools..._

Who could have imagined that such a wild creature, as spirited and wilful as an unbroken colt, would soon become a dutiful wife and devoted mother? The fact that Claude Frollo had been the man to finally saddle this particularly troublesome filly was even more unbelievable - especially to those who had witnessed the aftermath of her sultry performance that day. Esmeralda was overwhelmed by her conflicting emotions - on the one hand, she felt nothing but disdain when remembering the rashness of her behaviour and how foolish and arrogant she had been.

And yet, she also envied that idealistic young girl and her unmitigated existence.

Yes, the winters had been harsh _- and the soldiers even harsher -_ and she had rarely been certain of where her next meal was coming from...yes, the Court of Miracles had been loud and cramped and reeked of raw sewage in the height of summer...yes, life had been tough on the streets...but she had loved it.

However, at the same time she knew that, given the opportunity, she would not change any of the decisions she had made. After all, if she had not surrendered, the Court of Miracles would now probably be nothing more than a bleak tomb, empty but for the mangled and charred corpses of her kin...Nicolas, her precious son, would never have been born...

And then, of course, there was Claude...

Her feelings for him seemed as fleeting and changeable as the seasons. Once, she would have been repulsed at the mere thought of sharing a bed with him but now she found herself looking forward to waking up in his arms - every morning, she would gaze at him as he slept beside her, marvelling at how content he looked and running her fingers through his tousled silver hair. She always felt guilty when he opened his eyes, the subtle, cunning smirk catching at the corner of his lips leaving her in no doubt that he had been wide awake the whole time.

He was, by far, the most infuriating person she had ever had the misfortune to meet.

But she enjoyed his company...he was engaging and intelligent and...

She loved him.

_No! No, I don't love him!_ _I **can't** love him_...

Esmeralda frowned and glanced at the bottle of wine wistfully. She wanted nothing more than to drown her sorrows and forget all about Claude Frollo but how could she when her treacherous heart pounded so maddeningly whenever she thought of him? As if on cue, the capricious organ began to flutter as hazy, disjointed images of that delirious romp in the stables sprang unbidden to the forefront of her mind...Claude's face, twisted in bestial ecstasy as he rutted above her...

_Damn him!_

Thankfully, she was distracted from this irksome train of thought by Quasimodo. He had noticed the look of longing in her eyes as she gazed at the figurine and, having first set Nicolas down on the floor at their feet, picked the doll up with a rueful grin.

"I think I need to replace this," he mused, the artist within already envisioning how the new Esmeralda would look, wearing a fine green gown made from the material of one of his old tunics...perhaps he would carve her holding Nicolas in her arms, "Would you like to keep this one?"

"I would love that," Esmeralda murmured, a soft smile lifting the corners of her mouth as she accepted the bell-ringer's humble gift, "Thank you...you have no idea how much this means to me."

But, in her heart of hearts, she knew he did.

Of course he did.

**x X x**

The cobbled square outside of Notre Dame was mostly devoid of people but, as always, there was a small group of ragamuffins gathered around the violently painted caravan of Clopin Trouillefou. The soothing weight of the wooden figurine in her pocket bolstered Esmeralda's spirits as she smiled at her friend. The mountebank spotted her and, after first shooing away the motley crowd with good-natured gusto, waved her over to the side-steps of his wagon, where he was seated with a large wooden crate at his feet. Nicolas immediately began to squeal at the sight of the grinning jester, who took the delighted child in his arms with a burst of jocular laughter, "I've missed you too, mi león pequeño! Happy birthday!" The boy rewarded Clopin's attentions with a gummy smile before snuggling into the man's purple and yellow surcoat.

"He must be getting tired," Esmeralda sighed, reaching forward to stroke her son's downy cheek, "Do you want me to take him?"

Clopin shook his head and cradled the yawning child closer to his chest, "Busy day?"

"You don't know the half of it!" she laughed, curling her legs beneath her as she sat down beside him. They sat in contented silence for a few moments until Esmeralda's curiosity got finally the better of her and she tapped at the side of the crate with her foot, "What's this?"

"Nothing much...just some of your old things from the Court," Clopin scratched at the back of his neck with a free hand and wrinkled his nose, "I've been meaning to sort through it for some time but...well, I just couldn't bring myself to do it until now. I suppose I didn't want to accept that you weren't coming back."

"Oh Clopin..." Esmeralda smiled sadly and rested her head against her friend's shoulder, wondering what to say to dispel the sudden tension in the air. Something was wrong here and she was determined to get to the bottom of it. Inspiration struck as she gazed down at the box, "I hope you haven't tried to squeeze Djali in there!"

He snorted and the tension lifted a little, "Certainly not! I value my life too much to try something like that! Crazy goat..."

"How is he?"

"Well, you'll see for yourself soon enough - I've asked Emilian to bring him to the Palace of Justice tomorrow morning."

"Why? Clopin, if you don't tell me what's going on I-"

He shook his head and turned to her, a wry smile brightening his sombre face, "You've always known my mind, Esmeralda...even when you were a child, I could never keep secrets from you. Do you remember when-"

_"Clopin!"_

Esmeralda folded her arms and glared at him - there was no way he was getting around her that easily!

The jester sighed and, with Nicolas dozing happily in the crook of his arm, got to his feet, "I wish I could tell you. Believe me..."

"Are you in some sort of trouble?"

"I am _always_ in trouble, my dear..."

The gypsy woman threw up her hands in frustration, her green eyes flashing, "Just tell me!"

Clopin sighed and pressed a thin, brown hand to his face, "I've been...I've been having an affair with a noblewoman."

_"What?"_

He slumped back onto the stairs, his haggard face proof enough that he was telling the truth, "Her name is Isabelle Coictier."

Esmeralda took Nicolas from her distraught friend, frowning as she tried to put a face to the name he had given - if she remembered correctly, this particular woman was the wife of Jacques Coictier, who had been physician to King Louis XI until the monarch's death in August. He was now retired but retained great influence within the nobility. Claude had mentioned him a few times - in a notably disparaging tone - and was of the opinion that the gentleman was not to be trusted. As for Isabelle herself, Esmeralda had spoken to the auburn-haired young woman several times at social functions and had been suitably impressed by the lady's quiet dignity and kindness.

"Do you love her?"

Clopin frowned and stared pointedly ahead, as though he was trying to conjure the lovely Isabelle out of the empty air before him.

"Clopin?"

"Yes...yes, I love her. And she loves me," he took a deep shuddering breath and buried his face in his hands, "She's pregnant, Esmeralda."

"What are you going to do?"

He buried his face in his hands, "We're leaving Paris tonight. There's a place in Bordeaux where I know we'll be safe...I'm sorry I couldn't tell you until now."

Esmeralda shook her head and squeezed her friend's hand with a soft smile, "Listen, you've looked after us all for years - if anyone deserves happiness, it's you. Take a chance. Follow your heart."

"Thank you..."

They held each other for a few short moments before Clopin broke the embrace and pushed her to her feet, "Go on - get out of here before I decide to take you both with me!"

Esmeralda wiped away her tears with the sleeve of her cloak, "I will miss you...everything is going to seem so...topsy turvy without you."

He managed a choked laugh, "That was terrible, Essie..."

"I know. Goodbye Clopin."

The Gypsy King watched as his friend disappeared from view for the last time. She was so strong - he had no doubt that she would be fine without him. Esmeralda would always been the beacon of light for those lost in darkness, the figurehead of the gypsies but something had changed. Just as she had instinctively known about his secret, Clopin could sense the young woman's turmoil.

He smiled as he began to fold away the wooden steps of the caravan, her words echoing in his mind.

_Take a chance..._

_Follow your heart..._

"Thanks for the advice Essie, but I think you need it more than I do!"_  
_

**a/n Lyrics are from 'Sweet Surrender' by Sarah McLachlan. I have to say that I feel so humbled by all of the lovely reviews I've received on this story so far - you guys are all amazing! **

**Christine J - I hope everything is going well for you at work, hun!  
Silvery Grey - I am definitely open to bribery, my dear...especially if there is Fresme erotica on offer!  
Villains R Hot -I love your pen name! Thanks for your lovely review.  
melissa Ivory - Thank you! Hopefully I will be able to grant your wish for a happy ending. We shall see!  
gypsylover24 - You're too kind! *blushes*  
**

**Translation - 'Mi león pequeño ' is Spanish for 'My little lion'.**


	17. Loyalty

**Loyalty**

As she walked away from Clopin for the last time, Esmeralda's eyes were so full of tears that she could barely see where she was going. Nicolas, who was now wide awake and restless, seemed to sense his mother's sombre mood and, much to her exasperation, began bawling loudly, which didn't help the situation - especially as Esmeralda was also trying to carry the awkward shaped crate under her free arm.

"Shhh! Nicky...be quiet, please!"

Having paused briefly in order to collect herself, Esmeralda considered backtracking and asking Clopin for help but almost immediately realised that this was not a plausible option - if she went back now, there was no guarantee that she would be able to find the strength to leave her old friend again. Dismissing the idea, she gritted her teeth and tried to concentrate on not falling over as she turned down a narrow alleyway, trying to concentrate on getting home in one piece.

_Home._

Somehow, it no longer seemed strange to the young gypsy woman that the dark, shadowy fortress, which loomed over the terrified inhabitants of Paris like a malevolent spirit, had become such a sanctuary for her. Within the imposing walls of the Palace of Justice, Esmeralda had found a strange sense of peace that she had never known in all those years on the streets or in the Court of Miracles and, although she refused to admit it to herself, deep down it was obvious that this feeling had more to do with her husband than anything else. Right now, after the shock of her closest friend's imminent departure, Esmeralda knew that the only person who could comfort her was Claude Frollo - she longed to feel his arms around her waist, his warm breath against her ear and neck as he promised to keep her safe from the ever-changing world around them. For a moment Esmeralda felt a sudden flame ignite within her but, without warning, the image of Clopin's face, his puckish features twisted with the agony of their last farewell, appeared before her, snuffing out that last vestige of hope like a cruel wind.

"Damn you Clopin!" she hissed, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, "You can't leave me, you bastard! Not now...not when I need you most..."

Nicolas was screaming now, his tiny body writhing as he tried to slip from his mother's grasp, and Esmeralda could feel her sanity slowly sliding away as she struggled to retain her tenuous grip on both her son and the crate. It was as though, subconsciously, the two precious items in her arms represented the separate realms of her life, her past and future, and she had to let one go in order to save the other.

_"Mama!"_

Nicolas's frantic cries roused Esmeralda and without a second thought she let the crate fall from her arms and held the wailing child to her breast, pressing her face into his dark curls. Her once cherished belongings lay scattered at her feet and across the filthy cobbles of the alleyway but she didn't care - Nicolas was all that mattered to her now and she would never do anything to put him in jeopardy, not for all the riches and freedom in the world.

"So here you are!"

Clutching Nicolas to her damp bodice, Esmeralda whirled around as a voice suddenly rang out behind her and Phoebus de Châteaupers appeared behind her, his golden armour gleaming in the afternoon sunshine. "I've been looking for you everywhere," he laughed, brushing his blonde hair out of his eyes as he approached her, "The Minister wanted me to make sure you got home safely from the Cathedral so I-what happened here?"

Esmeralda managed a shaky smile as the captain indicated the many objects littering the ground before him, "Oh, I just...I had a little accident."

"Looks like I came by just in time then!" he replied with a kindly grin as he began to scoop the various items up and place them back into the crate. Esmeralda made a small sound of protest and, having transferred Nicolas from the crook of one aching arm to the other, stooped to help Phoebus as he set about retrieving her belongings from each corner of the alleyway.

He brushed her away with a gentle shake of his head, "Don't worry about it - you just concentrate on taking care of the little one."

"Thank you - I guess I'm just having a difficult day."

Phoebus deposited a pile of gaudy blouses and a flimsy green bag into the crate at her feet, "You don't have to explain anything to me, Madame. I'm happy to be of service to such a great lady as you."

Esmeralda felt her face grow hot under the soldier's appreciative eye and unadorned compliments - she wished he would stop gazing at her like an adoring puppy. It was the same infatuated simper she had previously noticed on the faces of Quasimodo and the other citizens of Paris when she spoke with them. They seemed to regard her as some kind of saint, an angel who had sacrificed herself to save them all – Esmeralda found it absolutely unbearable.

"Please call me by my first name, Captain. After all, we're not at court now and, besides, I feel like such a fraud when anyone addresses me as _Madame_ - that just isn't me."

He grinned unabashedly in response and nodded his approval, "I'd like that, Esmeralda and I hope you'll return the favour."

The gypsy's forthright attitude pleased Phoebus. The Captain had been raised amongst women who were trained from an early age to hide their feelings in order to catch a husband and, as a result of this, often became sour and domineering once they had fulfilled their martial obligations. Fleur, his wife, was a perfect example of that particular school of womanhood, having spent her entire life in pursuit of an acceptable match, goaded by her female relatives - indeed, the hapless young man never knew what was really going on behind his bride's seemingly guileless blue eyes. Sometimes she could be unbelievably vicious - especially where other women were concerned - and, over the past few months, her behaviour had become increasingly erratic on account of her failure to conceive a child. Her mother, Aloise, was already extremely critical of the young couple and her constant demands for grandchildren had driven poor Fleur to tears on more than one occasion.

The sound of Esmeralda crooning to her son in a soft, husky whisper roused Phoebus from his gloomy reverie and, after recovering the gypsy's remaining belongings from a murky puddle of water, he turned his attentions to Nicolas, who was now prattling contentedly in his mother's arms. The child stared up him curiously with large pewter-grey eyes and, after a moment of uncertainty, favoured the soldier with an adorably toothy grin.

Phoebus chuckled and reached out to brush a calloused thumb across the boy's cheek, "You're quite the little charmer, aren't you?"

"Oh, you don't know the half of it!" Esmeralda couldn't help but giggle as Nicolas, delightfully shy before this attentive golden giant, buried his chubby face into her arm with a bashful smile, "He thinks he's the next Dauphin, this one!" Despite his laughter at this, the captain looked decidedly wistful as he gazed down at the child and Esmeralda suddenly recognised her blunder - after all, Fleur's apparent infertility was common knowledge amongst the infamously loose-lipped aristocracy.

Phoebus, who seemed to be all too aware of the sudden awkwardness in the air, cleared his throat and flashed Esmeralda a reassuring smile, "Well, we'd better get you two home otherwise the Minister will have my head!"

She beamed back at him, relieved that he had not taken offence at her tactlessness, and was taken completely aback when, without warning, he swept her into an unyielding, all-encompassing embrace. Before she could react, his lips were on hers and he was kissing her - or at least, trying to.

It lasted only seconds before Esmeralda managed to squirm away, her emerald eyes flashing with the full force of the outrage she felt inside. Phoebus backed away, the horror of what he had just done plain to see on his face as he stammered an unintelligible stream of apologies.

_"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."_

Her features softened slightly as she realised that he meant every word he was saying - it had been an accident, the blind actions of someone in pain searching for comfort. Phoebus truly loved his wife but the relationship was suffering because of their childlessness. In his fragile state of mind, he had deluded himself into believing Esmeralda's kindness was something more - after all, it was not so long ago that he had held a torch for the young gypsy woman.

Esmeralda understood what he was trying to say and pitied him but, for some inexplicable reason, she also felt a surge of sudden hatred for this man - not for that momentary lapse of judgement, not for kissing her or almost betraying his wife, no...she hated him because he couldn't make her feel the way she once had about him. On that warm, festive day when she had taken refuge in Notre Dame, she would have given anything for Phoebus to touch her that way - oh yes, she had been giddy and wild with infatuation for him, this _sun god_ who spoke as though she was his equal, rather than just another troublesome gypsy waif.

_He's not at all like the other soldiers..._

Loving Phoebus would have been so simple, so much easier than the path the gypsy's impulsive heart had chosen for her. She could picture it now, the life she could have had as Madame de Châteaupers - a peaceful, uncomplicated existence with a man who, on paper, was everything a woman could ever want in a husband. Yes...they could have been happy, once upon a time...

But not now.

_Now she craved something darker, something bittersweet and addictive and oh-so-wrong... _

She waited until he had finished stuttering and, with a gentle smile, offered him her arm, "Take me home, Captain Phoebus."

His eyes widened in surprise but he quickly recovered his composure and, after stooping to retrieve the crate, accepted her gesture with obvious gratitude

"With pleasure, Esmeralda."

**x X x**

It was with a weary sigh that Claude Frollo finally retired from the pressures of the courtroom and mounted the elaborate staircase leading to his personal chambers. He was looking forward to spending some well-earned quality time with his family after such a stressful day and, as he glanced around the door of the bedroom he shared with Esmeralda, the Minister was elated to find his beloved wife was already there waiting for him.

She was kneeling by the bed with her back to the door and the Minister felt his heart leap at the sight of her - with the opaque material of the ivory-coloured nightdress she was wearing pooled around her slender legs, she looked like an angel. Her ebony curls cascaded and danced across her dusky shoulders as she stooped forward, completely immersed in the task at hand. Repressing a lascivious smirk, Claude began to creep across the room, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he came to a halt just behind his intended target and peered over her shoulder.

Esmeralda was surrounded by dried petals. They were scattered across her lap and hands in a carnival of red, white and pink. That summer, Nicolas had picked a rose whilst in the countryside with his mother and, upon their return, they had placed it in an earthenware vase on the windowsill. In late October, it began to fade and, knowing how much Esmeralda cherished the flower, Claude had collected the fallen petals and pressed them between the pages of a book they were reading together. She was had been overcome by the thoughtful gesture and could often be seen pouring over the remains of her rose, a dreamy smile playing across her lips.

But tonight, for reasons unknown, she was not smiling.

He placed his hands upon her shoulder, his brow furrowed as she flinched slightly beneath his touch and turned her head to the side. The unfathomable depths of her worryingly empty eyes unnerved Claude, who sank to his knees beside her, his fingers lingering on her cool, bare flesh. He reached out and brushed her unruly tangle of curls back so that he could see her face, wondering if this uncharacteristic behaviour was a result of the passing of their son's first birthday. It was not uncommon for women to feel this way when their children started to pull away from them and his wife was no different - in fact, she had suffered a similar bout of melancholia whilst weaning Nicolas from the breast.

"Esmeralda?"

She seemed to come alive at the sound of his voice and, without a word or explanation, took his hand in hers and led him to their bed.

**x X x**

Exhausted, they lay together, curled around each other like a pair of satiated, purring felines as the moonlight illuminated their perspiring bodies, glowing and shuddering in the aftermath of _la petite mort_.

Silent tears streamed down Esmeralda's cheeks to mingle with the rivulets of sweat that dampened her throat and breasts - sex had been a welcome distraction, a brief oblivion in which she could lose herself and forget the difficulties of life...but now it was over and she had to face reality which, unfortunately for her, included that gut-churning tempest of raw emotion within which left her feeling as battered and dejected as the sole survivor of a shipwreck.

Closing her eyes, she bit the insides of her mouth to prevent herself from sobbing aloud, and rolled onto her side, drawing Claude with her. Despite everything, his presence was a great comfort to her but, even as he pressed his warm body to hers, whispering in a language she didn't understand, Esmeralda was afraid.

_She was afraid of so many things._

Clopin was leaving - Clopin, her dearest friend, the man who had nurtured and protected her for so long, who was always there in the background, as strong and steadfast as the roots of ancient oak tree. How would she cope without him?

She worried about Nicolas everyday, even when exalting in his unrivalled beauty and courage - he seemed to be growing before her very eyes, changing little by little each day, and she knew that, one day, she would have to let him go. Childhood seemed so fleeting when viewed as a parent.

And, of course, there was Claude. Sometimes, when she thought of him, it seemed as though she was being torn asunder, that, at times, her heart was only held together by the most insubstantial scrap of skin and muscle. She wanted him so badly it hurt. She wanted to throw her inhibitions to the wind, to give herself to him without reserve and say the three words which threatened to burst from her lips every-time their eyes met.

_I love you._

But she just couldn't bring herself to let her guard down, to tear down those long-established walls that still separated them - there was history there, a bloody past which could not be overlooked and, in the eye of this ever-raging storm, a frightened, confused girl reluctant to put her heart on the line.

"Claude?"

Esmeralda felt him stir behind her, his hands splayed across her hips and buttocks as he murmured her name in response.

"What is it?"

"I-just wanted to say...I-" she swallowed and, after turning to face him, ran her fingers through his damp, silver hair with a sigh, "Goodnight, Claude."

He smiled and pressed a chaste kiss to her brow.

**a/n Urgh, hangovers are not fun! Thanks to all my wonderful readers - your feedback is much appreciated! Yeah, I know that Phoebus is a total dick in the novel but I decided to stick with the Disney version and make him a little more personable - he still isn't getting his grimy paws on Esmeralda though!  
**


	18. Duty

**Duty**

_'Split me open with devotion_  
_Put your hands in and rip my heart out...'_**  
**

Esmeralda awoke to the distant pealing of bells and the smell of freshly baked bread. With an arm thrown across her face to shade her eyes from the invading brightness of the morning she rolled onto her side, instinctively searching for the comforting warmth of her husband's body, and was sorely disappointed when her groggy exploration of the bed yielding nothing but cool linen.

_"Claude..."_

"He's been in court for hours. It's almost midday, you know!"

A jovial voice cut through the answering silence and Esmeralda sprang up out of the tangle of sheets like a startled hare, much to the amusement of Madeleine, who was standing by the bed with a heavily-laden silver breakfast tray in her arms.

"Huh? What did you say?"

"It's past eleven!" the maid laughed as she stooped to place the dangerously wobbling tray on the night-stand, "The Minister told us not to disturb you. Nicolas is downstairs with Marie." She perched on the edge of the bed, reaching down to rub her aching ankles before favouring her friend with a decidedly foolish grin. Groaning, Esmeralda abandoned all futile attempts to make herself look a little more presentable and narrowed her eyes in response to the other woman's odd behaviour.

"What?"

"Hmm, I was just wondering what happened last night to make you so exhausted..." Madeleine replied, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Esmeralda rolled her eyes and tossed a pillow in the general direction of her good-natured tormentor, whose sniggers redoubled as the badly-aimed projectile sailed over her head, forcing the thwarted gypsy girl to retreat under the covers with a muffled groan.

"You shouldn't have let me sleep in so late - I feel awful..."

Madeleine sighed, knee joints creaking in audible protest as she struggled to her feet, "Well, eat your breakfast and come down to the kitchen when you've perked up - I'll keep an eye on Nicolas."

Esmeralda smiled softly at the mention of her beloved child and reached out to take her friend by the hand, "Thank you Maddie...sorry about the pillow."

"I deserved it but don't worry - you can always make it up to me by telling me all about you and dear_ Claude_..."

Another missile flew across the room - this time narrowly missing the intended target - and the maid darted out of the room, her uproarious giggles echoing along the corridor as Esmeralda groaned and flopped back onto the bed, a reluctant smile creeping onto her drawn face. A few moments passed and, just as Esmeralda was settling down to enjoy the delicious breakfast that Marie had prepared for her, the door creaked open. She sighed and glanced up from the tray, half-expecting to see Madeleine grinning at her from across the room.

"Back for round two? Well, I must warn you, I've got a croissant here and I'm not afraid to use it so you might as well...Claude!" Esmeralda pushed her breakfast aside and flew to greet her husband, who stood in the doorway with a faint smile playing over his thin lips.

"Hmm, I should let you sleep late every morning!" the Minister chuckled as she rose on the tips of her toes to kiss him. His eyes darted in the direction of the abandoned tray, "And I presume that _terrifying_ threat was intended for Mademoiselle Beauvoir?"

She laughed and drew away, her fingers lingering on the soft velvet of those familiar judicial robes, "How ever did you guess?"

Claude shook his head reproachfully as he stepped over the threshold of the room, "I could hear her dulcet tones from the courtroom, my love. She used to be such a nice, quiet girl...perhaps the questionable company she keeps is to blame for her sudden descent into mischief..."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Esmeralda flashed him a sweet smile as she sat down on the bed, patting the covers invitingly, "Come sit with me. I might even let you have a bite of this deadly pastry..."

"As tempting as that sounds, I'm afraid I'm here on official business rather than pleasure," the Minister replied as his wife made an attractive moue of disappointment and set the tray down on the floor, "You see, I've just had a rather interesting visit from Jacques Coicitier..."

Esmeralda's lovely face was admirably impassive - no one but her husband could have picked up on the way her shoulders stiffened every so slightly at the mention of the former royal physician's name.

"What did he want?"

Claude tossed his hat onto a nearby chair and, running a hand through his ruffled hair, came to sit beside her, "He was extremely distressed. It seems his wife - Isabelle, is it? - has left him for another man."

"Oh?"

"I presume you are already aware of this?"

"No...why would you think that?" Esmeralda's voice was steady, her manner almost nonchalant, as she sprawled back with her eyes closed, idly fingering the delicate trim of Claude's sleeve.

He rose to his feet with a sigh, "Simple deduction, my dear; Madame Coiciteir left her husband because she is pregnant with her lover's child. My sources indicate that the prospective father is none other than your friend Clopin Trouillefou, so-called King of the Beggars...they eloped last night."

Esmeralda could not prevent a long-repressed sigh of relief from escaping - Clopin and Isabelle were free and safe, far away from Paris and those who would try to keep them apart. She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her heart in a poignant gesture of farewell to her former guardian, silently wishing him happiness and luck in his new life. Claude's lips quirked into a frightening semblance of a smile as he watched his wife's reaction to the news. Her involvement in the sordid affair was not a surprise to him but he was rather upset that she had chosen to hide the truth from him, "How long have you known?"

She responded with a question of her own, "What did you tell Coicitier?"

"That is of no consequence. Answer me."

It was not a request, Esmeralda knew that, and she turned away, chewing her lip furiously as a sudden rush of fear gripped her. When she finally spoke her voice sounded small and meek and she hated herself for it, "Only since yesterday afternoon - no longer, I swear it."

Claude nodded curtly and made his way over to the window where he stood quietly for a moment, caught up in the noise and commotion of the courtyard below,"Coicitier asked for - no, rather he _demanded_ - my help in retrieving his bride and her lover. He wanted me to send Captain de Châteaupers out after them." The Minister glanced over his shoulder, the smirk on his face broadening considerably at Esmeralda's obvious distress, "You needn't look so alarmed, my dear - I told him in no uncertain terms that my soldiers have more pressing matters to deal with than chasing after runaway wives."

She lowered her eyes to mask the overwhelming feeling of relief coursing through her body, "Thank you."

He shrugged and turned back to the window, running his fingertips across the misty glass with a slight smile, "I assure you, it's the truth. I cannot spare any man on such a fool's errand when the very soul of this city is still at stake. Take it from me though, if they ever return to Paris I will personally see to it that they are punished for their misdeeds."

At this Esmeralda almost leapt to her feet, eager to defend her friend and the woman he obviously adored, "Misdeeds? What misdeeds? Isabelle only married that horrible old man to please her father - she had no choice in the matter! She_ loves_ Clopin and he feels the same way about her!"

Claude sighed and turned to place his hands on her shoulders, his tone condescending and deceptively soft, just as it was when he was speaking to Quasimodo, "Be that as it may, she is still Coicitier's wife - some would even go so far as to say that she is his _property_ - and as such your friend has committed theft. I concede that this is not as grievous a crime as the sin of adultery, at least in the eyes of the Lord anyway, but, nevertheless, it is my responsibility to uphold the law, whatever the circumstances."

"But surely love transcends all of that! Love is..." Esmeralda clenched her fists in obvious frustration as the right words evaded her, "It's_..._it's the only thing in the world that matters. It's _everything_..."

"No," Claude said evenly as he crossed the room to retrieve his hat, "Not everything. Above all else, there is duty."

"Duty?"

"Yes. Duty. As in the duty of a wife to her husband," he replied curtly, "Women should be loyal, virtuous, modest..._submissive_..."

Esmeralda's eyes flashed in defiance as, tossing her head like a high-spirited filly, she took a faltering step toward him, "And men? Husbands and fathers? What do they owe the women in their life?"

"Austerity, prudence and cultivation - a man must provide for those around him and protect them as best he can. That is all," Claude shook his head and turned away, "You might as well ask what we owe to the beasts in our pastures or the servants who tend our homes."

"And what about me? Us? Is that all I am to you? Part of your estate, your chattel? Ha! Even if that was your will I would never surrender myself to such a pathetic existence!"

Esmeralda's voice was hoarse with emotion and she trembled from head to foot with the full force of the rage she felt building up inside - how could he say such things? Did all men feel and think the same way about women? She already knew the answer but, shocked and hurt, she shied away from the painful truth...

_Not Claude...he's different..._

No, he's not. And why should he be?

_I don't understand..._

He's a nobleman, born and bred to a life of privilege. They are all alike, power-hungry and arrogant._  
_

_But...he loves me..._

You heard what he said. You're nothing to him.

_Just another part of his estate..._

The gypsy girl shook her head vigorously, trying to rid herself of the feelings of doubt and anger threatening to boil over and consume her. Her actions seemed to infuriate Claude and he crossed the room in two long strides, reaching out to grasp her chin between his strong fingers. His gleaming dark eyes flickered hungrily over her face as he hissed down at her, "You are mine, Esmeralda! I _own_ you and nothing, short of my demise, will _ever_ change that - you think I don't know about your secret dalliance with that idiotic soldier? I have spies throughout this city and they miss nothing!"

Esmeralda's struggles faded and her eyes were wide with incredulity as she realised what he was insinuating, "Phoebus? You think I'm in love with Phoebus?"

"Lieutenant Girard saw you with him yesterday...don't dare try to deny it!" he spat, releasing her from his grip with a look of abject disgust.

She stumbled back, holding onto the corner of the windowsill for support, "Claude, this is ridiculous - the captain and I are just good friends, that's all and Girard is nothing but a liar and fool! I don't want Phoebus! I don't want _anyone_...I only want..." Esmeralda's husky voice trailed off into silence as she faced her husband, tears glistening in her jade eyes.

"Yes?" Claude's heart skipped a beat as he took a step back, wondering for a moment if he had only imagined the last part of the sentence, "You only want...what? What is it Esmeralda? Talk to me..._please_..."

She swallowed, determinedly fixing her emerald gaze on the hem of her chemise - the words were there, simmering in her parched throat, but she couldn't speak. A fiery rage, sudden and illogical, was building deep within the tormented gypsy girl.

_Why do you have to ask? You should know! If you really loved me you would know!"_

"Esmeralda..."

_I only want you!  
_

He reached out for her, the tips of his fingers brushing against her shoulder. His touch, slight as it was, sent tremors through her already quivering body and she jerked away from him violently, recoiling as though their brief contact had burned her.

"Don't!" she choked, hot tears seeping from beneath her tightly closed eyelids, "Don't you dare touch me!""

Claude's flared nostrils were the only indication of his anger as he nodded and backed away, a grim smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, "Very well, if that is truly your wish then I shall take my leave...but understand that I regret nothing I have said today..."

With a curt, mocking bow, he swept from the room just as Esmeralda's rage finally boiled to the surface and she hurled the silver breakfast tray across the room after him. The cutlery crashed against the wall and Esmeralda fought the urge to sink to the floor, tears of anger and frustration coursing down her cheeks as Claude's footsteps echoed away into crushing silence.

"I won't let you do this to me," she muttered, throwing aside her chemise and striding to the wardrobe. She chose a gown at random - _a floaty, satin creation in aquamarine, one of Claude's favourites _- and pulled it over her head before gathering her raven hair into a loose chignon, impatiently tucking the stray curls behind her ears.

Once dressed Esmeralda hurried downstairs, her bare feet slapping against the marble flooring as, naked beneath the gown, she hurried through the crowded labyrinth of the Palace of Justice, determined to confront her husband with the poise and grace of a warrior queen, despite her dishevelled appearance. She bumped into Marie at the bottom of the staircase, almost sending the cook flying to the ground in her haste to catch up with Claude.

"What the-oh! Esmeralda! You're finally out of bed then, I see!"

The gypsy girl brushed her hair out of her eyes, resisting the sudden urge to shake the older woman, "Never mind all that - have you seen the Minister?"

"He just stormed past me in such a fury as would put Lucifer himself to shame," Marie replied brusquely, looking even more flustered than usual, "God help the poor soul awaiting their sentence down in the courtroom; everyone suffers when the Minister is in one of his moods."

"Hell's teeth!" Esmeralda bellowed as she stalked through the seemingly endless throng of lawyers, clerks and soldiers, the rotund cook struggling to keep up with her long, determined strides, "He's impossible!"

"Where are you going?"

"To the courtroom - I have to see him..."

At this Marie grabbed her wrist and pulled her back, her long-repressed Provençal accent increasingly more pronounced as she scolded the younger woman, "Oh no you don't! Pardon me but I just refuse to have you two at each other's throats again - now I don't know what this is about but I tell you I won't have it! You just come along with me to the kitchen and have a nice soothing jot of ale to calm you down...Nicolas is there with Madeleine and the poor little lamb has been asking for you all morning. No arguments!"

Just as the wily cook had intended, this stopped the furious gypsy in her tracks - Esmeralda sighed and reluctantly allowed herself to be led to the kitchens, where Madeleine was spooning some of Marie's home-made jam into Nicolas's eager mouth. The boy giggled and raised his arms at the sight of his mother, who immediately scooped him up and planted a loving kiss on his sticky cheek.

Marie nodded approvingly and pulled a shawl around her own plump shoulders. "I'm just going to get some more eggs from the market - I won't be too long," she announced, taking a small wicker-basket from the table as she made her way out of the back door, "And I expect to see you hard at work when I come back, Maddie!"

The maid poked her tongue out at the cook's retreating figure. "We're making a cake," she explained, indicating the congealed mess of flour and eggs covering the surface of the table, "Or at least, we're_ trying_ to make a cake."

Esmeralda pulled a face, "Looks appetizing..."

"Huh!" Madeleine sniffed audibly and reached over to had Nicolas a wooden spoon, which he waved in the air with noisy shrieks of joy, "I'd like to see you do any better!"

The gypsy chuckled and, having settled into a chair nearby the hearth, began to jiggle Nicolas up and down on her knee, laughing as he squealed and clamoured for more. With his olive skin tone, ebony curls and smoky-grey eyes, he truly was an astonishingly beautiful child, despite his malformed leg. He was an intelligent child and his curiosity and sweet nature ensured his position as a firm favourite with the staff and soldiers of the Palace of Justice.

"Mama!"

He beamed up at her, his cheeks rosy with the heat of the fire and Esmeralda's heart swelled with adoration. Here, in the warm, soothing atmosphere of the kitchen, with her son on her lap and her dear friend singing as she worked on that abysmal cake beside them, she felt the sharp edge of her anger becoming dull and blunt - Claude could play his petty games and stomp around like a bad-tempered bear all he wanted, just so long as she had this small refuge. He couldn't touch her here.

"Daydreaming again? Shame on you!"

Esmeralda flinched as Madeleine swept some flour from the tabletop to the faded hearthrug at her feet. It covered her toes, like a thin layer of white dust over her brown skin, and she shook her head in exasperation at the maid's childish games.

"Marie will have a fit if she sees that," she laughed, rising to her feet with Nicolas at her hip, "You know what she's like about keeping her precious kitchen clean!"

Madeleine rolled her eyes at this, "Spoilsport!"

Esmeralda responded with an innocent smile, the effect of which was slightly overshadowed by the mischievous sparkle of her bright green eyes. Nicolas gurgled happily in her arms, as though amused by the wry exchange, and held his chubby hands out to Madeleine, who took him from his mother and, ignoring his yelps of indignation and excitement, nuzzled her nose against his downy cheek.

"Do ever think about having children of your own, Maddie?"

The maid ruffled Nicolas's hair with a fond smile, "I came from a big family - eleven siblings, six of whom lived to adulthood. I was the eldest girl too and so my mother trusted me to take care of the little ones while she and my father were working. I guess some might think that I've had enough experience with babies to last anyone a lifetime but not me! Yes, I'd love a family of my own some day...I just haven't met a man worthy enough of fathering my children yet."

Esmeralda smirked, "Or one that could stomach your cooking!"

"Oh, I think that would be a little too much to expect, don't you? Although, I suppose if anyone ever asks for my hand it would be a good way to put them to the test!"

The pair laughed at the thought of a long line of potential suitors, faceless and nameless, waiting to sample Madeleine's culinary wares. A few moments passed before their mirth was interrupted by a sharp rap at the door and then, without waiting for an invitation to enter, Claude strode into the kitchen, his presence draining the humour from the room and the colour from Esmeralda's face in equal measure. He noticed - _of course he noticed_ - the way the gypsy's feline eyes narrowed ever so slightly and so, with an elegant wave of his bejewelled hand, he dismissed Madeleine, ordering her to take Nicolas up to the nursery.

The maid lowered her head in a small gesture of obeisance and hurried from the room with her young charge, leaving the Minister and his wife to spar in their seemingly age-old duel of love and hatred.

**x X x**

It was a few moments before the deafening silence following Madeleine's departure was finally broken.

"You look beautiful..."

Esmeralda blinked and shook her head in disbelief - she couldn't believe the nerve of this man! Dimly, she realised that he was holding a large bouquet of daffodils -_ her favourite flowers _- in one hand. She turned away and began to clear away the cooking implements from the table in an attempt to steady her trembling hands. If he thought he could sweeten her with compliments and trinkets then he really didn't know her at all!**  
**

"Listen...I'm sorry."

She was so shocked upon hearing these words, words she had previously thought he was incapable of saying, that she almost dropped the plate she was holding.

"What? What did you say?"

The muscles in Claude's jaw worked visibly as he struggled to speak, his pale cheeks flushed with the unfamiliar exertion of repentance.

"Look...I was angry...I defended you when Coicitier accused you of helping his wife to escape, even though I knew you had to be involved. And then you lied to my face, saying you knew nothing of the situation," he finished with a desolate sigh and, putting the flowers aside, reached out to take her hand. His voice was so sincere that Esmeralda managed to resist the instinctive urge to pull away and grudgingly allowed him to put his arms around her, "I overreacted and for that I apologise, though it pains me greatly to admit that I was in the wrong..."

"Thank you. That means a lot to me," she conceded stiffly, her tone leaving him in no doubt that his apology was only accepted with the greatest reluctance, "I should have told you about Clopin and Isabelle as soon as I found out...I was just so upset..."

Claude smiled sadly, "You were overwrought and I did not know what I could do to help you. And today..."

He paused delicately and ran his fingers over her shoulders, his nostrils flared - not in anger this time, but with the simple intention of inhaling her wonderful scent - as she rested her head on his chest, her own rage usurped by her need for the comfort and security of his arms.

_Her need for him..._

When Esmeralda next spoke her voice was considerably softer, muffled by the thick velvet of his robes, "It hurt me that you believed I could be disloyal to you."

He sighed and caressed the small of her back with the calming manner of a parent consoling a small child, "Jealousy is a powerful emotion...especially when fear is also present."

"Fear?"

Claude pulled away slightly and cupped her face in his hands, his granite eyes perusing her features as she gazed up at him, "The fear of losing you."

"Oh..."

"I have had words with Lieutenant Girard since our disagreement this morning - after hearing what I had to say he was quick to change his testimony. It seems that, in his haste to denounce de Châteaupers, he conveniently omitted to tell me that you had not welcomed the Captain's attentions. Needless to say, Girard will think twice before making such an accusation against you again."

Esmeralda made a small sound of satisfaction in her throat at this before pulling away to put the daffodils in water, "And Phoebus?"

"Don't worry, my pet, your dim-witted soldier will keep his position...for now at least," Claude chuckled, sending powdery clouds of flour into the air with a deft motion of his hand, "He may be innocent of trying to steal you away from me but I have no qualms about removing him on grounds of incompetency, should the good captain ever prove himself unworthy of his title."

She bit her lip, trying to repress the smile that sprang to her lips at the sound of his dark laughter, "You're a malicious old tyrant, Claude Frollo."

"And you're an impudent little witch...but I wouldn't have you any other way. Now come here."

Without warning he pushed her up against the table and proceeded to ravish her with hands and mouth. Her arousal was evident and he revelled in her desire for him, grinding his pelvis against hers in a sudden frenzy of lust. Esmeralda sighed blissfully and tangled her hands in his unruly silver coif - in this moment it all seemed so easy, so _right_, and the words she had longed to say for so long were on the tip of her tongue. She needed only to open her mouth and...**  
**

"Claude..." she murmured, breath hitching as his tongue flicked out to taste the shell of her ear, "Claude...I need to..._oh_...there's something I have to say...something I have to tell you..."**  
**

"It can wait..." the Minister whispered against the curve of her neck, gently lifting her up onto the table behind them. Esmeralda could not help but quiver with anticipation as he came to stand between his wife's parted legs, his hands creeping beneath the voluminous skirts of her dress to follow the sweet contours of her thighs. The flour on his fingertips left a powdery trail across her brown limbs and the curve of her parted lips as he explored her body at a leisurely pace. She writhed helplessly under his touch - it was maddening, excruciating even, but all she could do was press her face into his shoulder, moaning incoherently as he brushed a finger against her damp slit. He smiled and drew her closer, intending to sweep her off to their bedroom, but she mewled weakly in protest and pulled away.

"Claude..._please_...now!"

"Such a demanding girl," he chided softly, pressing his lips to her ear, "You want me to take you here, is that it?"

Whimpering, Esmeralda wrapped her legs around his waist, tugging at his robes as he laughed and pressed a light kiss on the corner of her trembling mouth. His cock was so achingly hard beneath his robes but he was determined to savour this - the insatiable little wench would just have to be patient for once...

Esmeralda threw her head back and ran her fingers through his hair with a soft smile, her emerald eyes glittering like distant stars in the dim light of the kitchen. Fingers biting into the tender flesh of her hip, Claude groaned and rubbed against her in an attempt to alleviate the mounting pressure in his loins; she was so sweet and pliant in his arms, her husky sighs rippling through him like the gentle ebb and flow of the ocean. Suddenly he drew away, kneeling before her on the cold flagstones as if prayer, and reached up to push her skirts aside. His face was glowing with the full force of the love and reverence he felt for her as he began to stroke her pussy, lightly brushing his thumb against her clitoris. Knees trembling, Esmeralda moaned and keened above him, her nails digging into the nape of his neck as he began to increase the pressure, circling the hard bud with slow intent.

"Oh..._Claude_...that feels so good..."

The Minister smirked and pressed his face against her thigh, trying to ignore the insistent throbbing of his cock as he slipped two fingers into her hot core. Esmeralda moaned and clutched at his shoulders, her head thrown back in ecstasy, "More..._more_...oh yes!"

Her cries of pleasure spurred him on and, pumping his fingers in and out of her, he rose up to bury his face between her parted legs. "Come for me..." he murmured hoarsely, flicking at her tingling clitoris with his tongue, "Come for me, my darling..."

Esmeralda sighed, arching her back as Claude pressed his mouth against her hot cunt, lapping up the juices that seeped out onto her thighs in thin, sticky rivulets. She shook above him, her skirts falling over his head as she writhed and moaned in ecstasy, crying as she came over and over again, "Yes! Oh, yes!"

"Mmm...you taste delicious, my dear..."

His voice came muffled from under her gown and this, combined with the sensual absurdity of the situation, sent Esmeralda, who still reeling from the intensity of her orgasm, into peals of throaty laughter. Unfortunately the sound of her amusement attracted the attention of Madeleine, who wandered back into the kitchen without so much as a knock only to be confronted with the sight of Esmeralda sprawled on the tabletop with the Minister obviously busy beneath her skirts.

_"Oh my..."_

The Minister reappeared with the speed of an arrow, his wife's juices glistening on his mouth as he barked a garbled string of abuse at the startled maid. Esmeralda was too dazed to do anything but watch, breathless and twitching, until the tirade ended and her husband was calm enough to ask the obvious question.

"Now, _pray tell_, what requires my attention so urgently that you forgot to knock before entering?"

Madeleine swallowed and shuffled on the spot as she explained that a stranger was waiting to speak with him, a man who claimed to be a friend of his - she hazarded a guess that he had given his surname as _Gringoire_ but was obviously so shocked by what she had seen that all other details had, for the moment at least, escaped her memory.

"Gringoire? No, it can't be! My old pupil, Pierre Gringoire! Well, this is an unexpected surprise!" Claude exclaimed, running his fingers through his tousled hair as Esmeralda made an effort to sit up, her cheeks burning under Madeleine's guileless blue gaze, "Why is he here? What did he say? Stop gawking, you foolish girl and answer me - oh, never mind! I'll ask him myself!"

He grabbed his hat from the floor and left in a whirl of black and purple and, as the door closed behind him, Madeleine crumpled to the ground, holding her sides as a sudden burst of hysterical giggles overwhelmed her. Esmeralda groaned and slumped back onto the table, her black hair acting as a convenient veil for her flushed face as the maid roared with laughter at her feet.

"I can't believe what I just saw!"

"Then please do your best to _unsee_ it," the gypsy sighed, "The last thing I need is the whole of Paris knowing about this!"

Madeleine grinned, "Just wait 'til Marie gets back from the market!"

Much to Esmeralda's amusement, she was still chortling when Claude returned, eager for his wife to meet their visitor. The couple exchanged furtive grins as Madeleine, suddenly penitent in the intimidating presence of her employer, made a valiant attempt to pass off her bawdy laughter as a particularly violent spate of coughing.

"I do hope you're not coming down with something unpleasant, Madeleine," Claude cocked his head to the side, putting Esmeralda in mind of an inquisitive hawk quietly observing the struggles of its prey.

"No sir!" the red-faced maid managed to choke, bobbing into a small curtsey, "Just a tickle in my throat, that's all."

"Good, then I suppose there's no reason why you can't answer a simple question for me, is there?"

"M'lord?"

"Why is there a goat in my kitchen?"

Bemused by this sudden turn in the conversation, Madeleine turned just as a flustered-looking Marie reappeared through the back door, struggling to control an excitable white goat Esmeralda immediately recognised as her beloved Djali - she had forgotten that Clopin had ordered him to be brought to the Palace of Justice. The animal bleated joyfully at the sight of his mistress and redoubled his efforts to escape the red-faced cook as Madeleine rushed to help restrain him.

"Thank you for this afternoon," Esmeralda murmured, reaching down to take her husband's hand as they watched Madeleine's unsuccessful attempts to catch Djali, who was now rampaging through the kitchen with all the destructive force of a small storm.

He smiled slyly, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered, "You can return the favour later tonight, my little vixen."

"Only if you let me keep Djali."

"Hmpf, typical!"

**a/n Phew, big chapter! As always, much thanks for the reviews everyone! The title of the next chapter is 'Family', for anyone who wants to know, and will introduce yet another character from the novel - no prizes for guessing who! This is the first day I've had to relax by myself in weeks and so I decided that I had to get this chapter finished in time for the 15th anniversary of the release of The Hunchback of Notre Dame tomorrow! Lyrics are from 'Eat the Music' by Kate Bush.  
**


	19. Family, Part One

**Family - Part One  
**

February 1484**  
**

Several peaceful months had passed since Pierre Gringoire's arrival in Paris. The poet had slotted into life at the Palace of Justice with such ease that it was sometimes difficult for the other residents to imagine a time when he had not been a fixture in their little world. Esmeralda and Claude both enjoyed the company of the unassuming scholar, whose shabby gentility and warm smile had captured the heart of Madeleine, much to the amusement of all involved. The maid would stammer and blush uncontrollably whenever they came into one another's presence and the object of her ardour reciprocated with equal awkwardness - after one such exchange, which cumulated with Pierre thrusting a hastily scribbled sonnet into the hands of the bemused young woman, the ever-sage Marie had commented that their slow courtship would have been painful to watch, had it not also been unintentionally hilarious.

Indeed, unspoken feelings seemed to run through the Palace like a dangerous undertow beneath seemingly tranquil waters. Esmeralda was still avoiding the subject of her deepening affections - for his part, the Minister was perplexed, and more than a little unnerved, by his beloved gypsy's unpredictable moods, which were too often triggered by her inner turmoil.

Despite this, Claude truly believed that he had never been so content in his entire life - he loved Esmeralda deeply and the mornings they spent together in bed before he had to attend to his many duties seemed like heaven on earth. Nothing was more wonderful than waking up next to his beautiful wife and burying his hands in her raven tresses as she slumbered in his arms. Nicolas too was an utter delight, a dauntlessly happy boy who adored his doting parents and looked upon the world around him with such innocence and curiosity. He was charming and fearless, just like his mother, and Claude found himself enchanted - _ensnared, enslaved_ - with each faltering step and every new word. He completely immersed himself in the joy and sorrow of fatherhood with the same gut-feeling of utter awe that John the Baptist must have felt when, with Christ at his side, the sweet waters of purification washed over his head.

Yes, so much had changed for the Minister in the past two years...

Of course, as with everything, many things remained the same. Claude's endless war against crime and devilment in Paris raged on, unchanged, as it had for more than two decades, much to Esmeralda's unending exasperation. She feared for his life just as much as for those of the people he hunted - there were countless innocents who still suffered at his hands and many minor wrongdoers were punished much too harshly for their misdeeds. As a result of this, the Minister and his soldiers had just as many enemies as well-wishers and, all too often, Esmeralda was forced to watch as the surgeon stitched up yet another gaping wound on her husband's alabaster torso and limbs - she hated the thought that perhaps one day his injuries would be too grave for even the most skilled physician to tend.

"Why do you put yourself through this?" she sighed one evening as she lay in bed beside him, running her fingers over the latest addition to his collection of scars, old and new. He had been slashed by a hidden dagger during a recent skirmish, a mistake that proved even the most pathetic of brigands should not be taken lightly. They were like rats, even more dangerous when desperate and cornered...

Claude chuckled and pulled the bed-sheets up to his throat in order to discourage her incessant prying, "It is imperative that the city be purged of filth and impurity, my dear. I could not sleep soundly at night knowing such foul creatures were prowling the streets - especially not now, when I have a wife and son to protect. I can't bear the thought of you at the mercy of a depraved criminal."

"Huh! I think I can take care of myself, thank you very much!" Esmeralda replied curtly, rolling her eyes. She frowned as he reached out to run a fingertip across the moist flesh of her lower lip - the violence of his loyalty was strangely endearing but she forced herself to keep up appearances...after all, this façade of hatred, this game of cat and mouse, was a long-established tradition between them. Ignoring Claude's jovial complaints, she cast the covers aside and began to press tender kisses across his sinewy torso, her eyes bright and hungry as she devoured the pale scars with mingled reverence and dread.

"Anyway, what would a bandit want with me?"

He smirked and ran his hands over the smooth flesh of her back, "Oh I think the answer to that question is quite obvious, don't you?"

Esmeralda tossed her head and sighed, "Well, I know what _you_ would want with me..."

"And who would blame me? Surely you don't think I'm the only man ever to fall for your considerable charms?"

"No...I suppose not..."

"Indeed!" the Minister laughed and rolled her beneath him, paying no heed to her squealed protests, "Now...let me show you _exactly_ what an old bandit can do..."

**x X x**

Paris in late February.

As predicted, the weather was proving to be as changeable as the feelings and fortunes of the inhabitants of the city. There had been an unseasonable, albeit brief, heat-wave at the beginning of the month - this sudden, overwhelming humidity and ensuing stench from the Seine had done little to bolster the spirits of the citizens, who did nothing but complain until the temperature began to drop...

Snow and sleet, carried in from the North by the bitter wind, fell in record amounts, concealing the filth and grime of the streets with its sparkling purity. Children whooped with delight as they awoke to a venerable wonderland of ice and snowflakes but, as with all things, the novelty soon wore thin after several weeks and the singular brilliance of that gleaming white flurry soon faded and became increasingly dirty, soiled by cartwheels and the feet of the trudging, disgruntled masses.

For the first time in an eternity, Esmeralda felt uncomfortable in the Palace of Justice. The hostile conditions kept her indoors, effectively imprisoned, and the gypsy girl's natural exuberance, her_ wanderlust_, shied away from the impenetrable walls which seemed to close in on her from all directions. She reined herself in harshly, irritated by the unfamiliar prick of panic behind her eyelids, and rested her forehead against the windowpane, relishing the coolness of the glass against her agitated skin as she stared out into the blizzard. Last year had been warm and wet. Last year, the snows had fallen elsewhere, sparing Paris. Now they had returned in full force, bringing with them all the merriment and misery of winter.

_Claude laughing, his imperious nose pink and pinched, snowflakes glistening in his hair like the crown of a fairy lord...Nicolas, his eyes glowing with wonder and joy as he experienced snowfall for the first time in his short life..._

Under the watchful gaze of his parents, the toddler had capered for hours in the frost-bitten courtyard as the soldiers, inspired by his antics, reverted to their own childhood. Their ruddy faces, tinged with blue and purple, shone with mischief as they threw snowballs at one another and skidded across the ice-coated cobbles. Yes, winter could bring such happiness to some.

But to others...

_A vague memory of venturing out to gather supplies in her fourteenth year, when the city had been in the clutches of a particularly terrible winter, the extreme weather felling peasants in such great numbers that many of the bodies were not recovered until the snow finally thawed in late spring. Ice formed in the thick curls of her hair and tears streamed from the corners of her eyes, freezing in thin rivulets on her stinging cheeks. Clopin had wrapped her bare feet in rags but the slush slowly seeped through the material, leaving her toes as numb as the rest of her..._

Esmeralda shivered, suddenly cold despite the fire blazing in the hearth behind her. As in the past, thoughts of those less fortunate than herself assailed the young woman, clinging to her skirts like the crooked hands of a beggar, and that eternal plea for alms, low and humble, reverberated through her soul over and over. Against her better judgement she pictured the Court of Miracles as she had known it in such harsh times, when even the colourful banners and unflagging cheer of her kin could not muster enough warmth to keep the children from freezing at night.

_Many will die before the coming of March..._

A dry sob echoed through the room, wrenched from her throat without warning, and she darted away from the window, fleeing the dreadful monotony of that bleak white scene. She gasped, knees buckling as her foot connected with something hard, something dusty and forgotten...a wooden crate, overflowing with gaudy clothes and bells and trinkets, bright in the heavy gloom of the chamber.

With two fistfuls of material - _shirts, corsets, skirts, gowns, all the colours of the rainbow and more besides_ - Esmeralda buried herself, hands and face, in the past. A painfully nostalgic scent, exotic herbs and spices, lingered in the creases and she inhaled deeply, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Lost in her memories, overwhelmed by her senses, she stayed there for what seemed like hours, crouched on the floor with the contents of the crate strewn around her.

A violent mixture of emotions bubbled to the surface as the young woman poured over her old belongings - a selection of motley ragdolls made her laugh as she remembered the silly voices and adventures that Clopin had invented for each of them when she was a small child...the sight of the shattered remains of an old tambourine - _a ribbon here, a bell there_ - made her heart ache, conjuring disjointed images of a lost friend, raped and murdered by soldiers on a warm evening in July...a small bag, last seen in the hands of Captain Phoebus as he retrieved it from a puddle of rainwater at her feet...

Oddly familiar and yet utterly foreign at the same time, this last item puzzled Esmeralda and she found herself turning it over in her hands again and again, brow furrowed with confusion. It was less of a bag than a cheap pouch really, emerald in colour and decorated with a crudely cut piece of green glass. She couldn't remember even seeing it before that afternoon with Phoebus in the alleyway...

_And yet..._

She shook her head and pulled at the drawstrings at the neck of the pouch, emptying its meagre contents onto her lap. One coal-black eyebrow arched in silent question as she surveyed the strange objects; a tattered piece of parchment and the shoe of an unknown infant, lovingly made and embroidered with pink lace and beads. She caressed the tiny bootee with one finger, smiling as she wondered about the whereabouts of its owner. The thing itself was not of great quality but someone, someone who obviously cared a great deal, had spent a great deal of time and effort on the embroidery. The detail was simply exquisite. After a moment, Esmeralda put the shoe aside and turned her attention to the neglected scroll. She unfolded it, wrinkling her nose as the scent of foxed parchment wafted into the air, and squinted down at the page before her. She recognised Clopin's laboured scrawl immediately and began to read aloud, her husky voice stilted as, self-concious even in her own company, she stumbled over the words.

_Esmeralda,_

_By the time you read this, I will have left Paris - and you, my dear - far behind. I hope to start a new life with Isabelle in a place free from persecution, where we can raise our unborn child in peace, but I could not leave in good spirits without first unburdening my heart to you. The reason for this letter is simple...I am a coward. I have kept this secret from you for so long...I can not move on until you know the truth. _

_As a very small child you often asked about the whereabouts of your parents and the origin of the pouch that held this confession. I always managed to distract you from such matters but it was obvious that such tactics would not keep the truth from you forever...so I took the pouch away and kept it hidden away from prying eyes. You soon forgot it and learned not to question your paternity. Now you are a woman with a child of your own...it is your right to know where you came from and my duty, as your former guardian, to finally answer those questions. _

_It was November 1462 when they brought you to the Court of Miracles. I remember it as clearly as though it happened only yesterday...a tiny girl-child, as dark as one of our own and as beautiful as anything I'd ever seen. The old woman who handed you to me was one of a small group of travellers who had arrived earlier that evening, seeking sanctuary from Frollo's soldiers - several of their companions had been slain but the majority had managed to escape and find their way to us. I presumed that your parents were among the unfortunate dead but the old woman explained that you had been stolen from your true mother in Rhiems.  
_

_The group were planning to move on as soon as it was safe for them to leave the Court but, believing their current misfortune to be a curse brought on by your presence, they were keen to be rid of you. Many of my own kin were of a similar opinion but I refused to let them turn you out onto the streets to perish. If we tried to return you to Rhiems, we would surely be arrested for the kidnapping and executed. I offered to raise you and gave you the name Esmeralda, inspired by the pouch which the travellers gave me in return for taking you off their hands. The rest, as they say, is history.  
_

_I tried to locate your mother many times but to no avail. Her identity, or whether she still lives, is a mystery. The shoe is yours. I do not know the whereabouts of its mate. _

_I will contact you as soon as it is safe for me to do so.  
_

_Forgive me. _

_Clopin._

**x X x**

Esmeralda glided into the Minister's study like a wraith, clutching the crumpled remains of the parchment so tightly that her knuckles were almost as white as her face. Exhaustion almost felled her and she sank against the door-frame, her red mouth open in a silent entreaty. Claude was seated at his desk, stooped over a venerable tabletop of legal paperwork_. _He glanced up, startled, as a heart-rending moan erupted from his wife's throat and she flew across the room to collapse at his feet.

"What is it? What's happened?"

Fear and helplessness cracked his voice as he slid from his chair to kneel beside her, cupping her haggard face in his hands_. _She shook her head wildly and thrust Clopin's letter at him, hot tears streaming down her pale cheeks. He frowned and took it from her, his eyes flickering across the page like tiny flashes of lightning. Esmeralda trembling as she watched him read and, when he finally tore his gaze from the faded parchment, his face was so full of pity and distress that she could hardly bear to look at him.

"Oh...oh, my darling..."

Those words, so soft and tender, tore away her last remaining vestiges of pride. She threw herself into his arms and, clinging to him with every fibre of her being, began to sob against his shoulder, "Oh, my mother, my mother!"

Claude's hands, soothing and strong, encircled her waist as he pulled her into a tight embrace, chanting promises like a mantra, "We will find her, we will find her, I swear it to you, we will find her..."

_Whether she still lives is a mystery..._

Clopin's terrible words echoed around Esmeralda's aching skull as she clambered onto her husband's lap and buried her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the comforting smell that was uniquely him. Claude smiled sadly and held her close to his chest, crooning softly as her eyelids began to droop.

The last thing she heard before the abyss of sleep claimed her was his voice, fervent and determined, in her ear...

_"We will find her!"_

**a/n Thanks for the lovely reviews on the last chapter everyone - you guys are awesome!  
**


	20. Family, Part Two

**Family - Part Two  
**

Esmeralda spent the next day in bed, sleeping fitfully under the watchful eyes of the household. Claude remained by her side for as long as possible, coaxing the dazed young woman to eat and drink during her brief periods of conciousness, but was forced to tend to his many duties the following morning. Understandably, he was reluctant to leave and entrusted Madeleine to care for Esmeralda in his absence.

It was mid-afternoon when she finally left the warmth and security of her chamber - she only ventured as far as Nicolas's room, where she wiled away the next few hours of daylight in the company of her beloved son, but it was enough to raise a delighted smile from Claude when he returned to find his wife and child dozing together before the fireplace. The remainder of the week continued in a similar vein, with Esmeralda and Nicolas indulging in the simple pleasure of one another's company, with nary a word spoken before the shadows began to lengthen across the tiled floor of the nursery.

_Hours, days, a week_...it all blurred together until, on the morning of the ninth day, Esmeralda woke at dawn with a craving for fresh air and the company of her dearest friend. She washed, dressed and wolfed down the contents of her breakfast tray, doing her best to ignore the way Madeleine and the others fussed around her as she prepared to leave. Nicolas prattled in her arms and she smiled down at him, feeling the tightness in her chest ease a little as they left the stifling atmosphere of the Palace of Justice behind - she still felt numb inside, following the devastating revelations of the previous week, but the bright, crispness of a new day lifted her spirits slightly. Djali pranced around Esmeralda, rearing and butting gently at her legs as she laughed at his antics and admonished him softly. Nicolas giggled and reached over the curve of his mother's arm, trying to grab at the goat's horns and ears.

Notre Dame loomed ahead, watching over the streets below like a benevolent guardian, and Esmeralda touched a hand to her heart in silent reverence. Despite the hurried baptism Claude had arranged for her before their wedding, she did not consider herself a Christian, but the quiet splendour of the cathedral had struck a chord within the young gypsy from the very beginning - she had found peace here as with no other place on earth. Quasimodo was already waiting for them when they arrived and Nicolas began to squeal with delight as soon as he caught sight of him. He wriggled out of his mother's arms and tugged at the hem of the bellringer's tunic, demanding attention with an air of self-importance which already rivalled his fathers, "Mo! Momo!"

Quasimodo chuckled, his eyes twinkling as he swept Nicolas into a fond embrace and grinned at Esmeralda over the child's unruly curls. He faltered when he saw how tired and wan his old friend looked - her eyes were bloodshot and the smile she offered in return was strained. Concerned, he reached out and, placing his hand on the small of her back, gently propelled her over to the table on the opposite side of the sunlit room, where a bottle of wine and small platter of cheese awaited them. Esmeralda sighed wearily and watched as Quasimodo settled Nicolas on the floor with a selection of wooden toys, Djali at his side - other than Claude, the boy had been her sole comfort in the dark days since Clopin's revelation and her heart overflowed with tenderness as he beamed up at her, his silvery-grey eyes shining with innocent pleasure.

She reached down and ruffled his hair, reluctant to acknowledge Quasimodo's obvious anxiety - the pity etched across the young man's face was unbearable. He reached across the tabletop and took her hand between his, just as he had so many times before. Esmeralda closed her eyes, thinking of the way Claude held his horse's reins, of her own hands when she bathed their son...

"I know."

Quasimodo's voice was like his touch, gentle and reassuring, and, when she dared to look up, Esmeralda saw, as if for the first time, the strength in his face. He swallowed, unnerved by the unfettered blaze of her emerald eyes, and his fingers tightened around hers - he was soft again, tender and humble, but she knew it was still there, that hidden_ strength_, simmering beneath the surface. She had forgotten that Quasimodo had lost his parents at a young age too...he _understood_...he could help her carry this burden...

The bellringer spoke again, "I know...about the letter, I mean...and your mother."

Esmeralda dropped her gaze, trying to focus on the way their fingers interlocked, "Did Claude tell you? He was here yesterday, wasn't he?"

"Yes, he brought me some soft wood for carving," Quasimodo pulled his hand back, reaching for the wine, "He...he was worried about you. He said...well, that you haven't been yourself." She snorted at this and the hunchback's spirits lifted as a little of that old spirit, something he loved so much about her, came back into the gypsy girl's face.

"I once heard someone say that you don't miss what you've never had," Esmeralda shrugged, brushing a few crumbs of cheese onto the floor for Djali, "Let's just say I don't believe them. At least, not anymore." She sighed heavily and lifted Nicolas onto his lap. The child immediately reached out for the wooden representation of his father, holding it up in his tiny hands, "One thing is certain...I'll always be here for Nicolas. No matter what."

Quasimodo smiled sadly and reached across the table to pat the boy's plump knee, "Of course you will. And so will I. He'll never have to grow up without knowing his family...not like we did."

Ignoring her son's struggles, Esmeralda buried her face in his curls, inhaling that familiar sweet scent, "My mother...I don't even know whether she's alive or..."

"You could find her."

"No. It doesn't matter now. The hardest part of this is...oh Quasi, I don't even know who I am anymore."

The bellringer frowned, "What do you mean?"

She set Nicolas down and moved around the table to watch the stained glass mobile hanging overhead, "I was always so proud of my heritage, of being a gypsy, a _Bohémien_...but it was all a lie, wasn't it? I'm so angry with Clopin and I hate myself for that. He wasn't to blame."

Quasimodo sighed and put a reassuring arm around his friend's shoulder, "No one can take the past away from you, Esmeralda - Clopin raised you. He _loves_ you. The Court of Miracles was your home and the people there have always been like a family to you. They still are and nothing will ever change that."

Leaning into his embrace, Esmeralda brushed the tears from her eyes with an embarrassed cough, "As always, you're right...and I've been an idiot."

"No, no you haven't."

She laughed and shook her head, "Oh, I have. I know I have...but it's done with now and I'm going to write to Clopin tomorrow. I owe him that, at the very least."

"That's more like it!" Quasimodo smiled, hugging her tightly, "And...your mother?"

At this Esmeralda pulled away, her eyes distant as she gazed down at Nicolas, who was hobbling around the room in pursuit of Djali, "I don't know. Perhaps it was meant to be this way after all. I should focus on Nicolas and Claude...they are my family, along with you and Clopin, of course. Now...pour me a drink and let's work out a plan for Claude's birthday next week. Pierre should be back from Rouen by then..."

The following discussion drove Esmeralda's worries to the back of her mind for the remainder of the afternoon. She was determined to follow her instincts and leave it all to fate - if her mother still lived there was a chance that they would be reunited someday, but she refused to pin all of her hopes on that remote possibility. Whatever came of this, Esmeralda was confident that she was making the right choice.

Little did she realise, that the decision had already been taken out of her hands.

**x X x**

Pierre had indeed left Paris that morning but it was not, as Esmeralda believed, on personal business and nor was he heading for Rouen.

The events of the past week had disturbed the young poet more than anyone suspected - he had grown extremely fond of the Minister's beautiful wife since their first meeting and, having lost his own parents prematurely, understood her distress all too well. He wanted to help her, and Claude, during their time of need.

The opportunity for such heroism arose the previous evening, as he spent a few hours in the library of the Palace of Justice in an attempt to reaquaint himself with his much-neglected play. When Claude joined him later that night, it was obvious that the situation was taking its toll on the man and Pierre was quick to set aside his work in order to ease his friend's sorrows.

"Esmeralda's mother...I want to find her," the Minister had announced, turning the pink infant's shoe over in his hands, "I want to bring her here."

"To Rhiems then. I'll come with you," Pierre offered, "As soon as possible, tomorrow even."

Claude shook his head, "Impossible. Lady Beaujeu is arriving tomorrow morning and she will not be best pleased if I am not at home when she comes to call. A shrewd woman that...I dread to think what would become of France if she was not here to steady the King's hand. His Majesty is...well, suffice to say he is not the man his father was. No...I can't leave Paris until next week at the earliest, no matter how much I wish I could."

"Huh, never mind all that - Esmeralda needs you and she comes first. You should go," Pierre paused, "Or let me if you can't...it's the least I can do after all the kindness you've both shown me."

He left at first light, the little shoe safe in his innermost pocket, arriving in Rhiems late that evening, just as the sky overhead began to crackle with electricity and the promise of thunder. The young man was no stranger to the city and so the time that would have usually been wasted in exploration was instead spent arranging accommodation for himself and his mount at a nearby inn. He had stayed there once before and remembered it as being a hub of gossip, a favourite meeting place for locals and visitors alike, which suited his purpose well. It was clean and hospitable too - a welcome, and rare, bonus.

With the small matter of his room and board settled for the night, Pierre made his way downstairs to the tavern and took possession of a table by the window, where he could watch his surroundings and listen from a discreet position. The evening wore on slowly and, after an hour or so with little encouragement, he considered making inquires of those around him as to the whereabouts of the person he was seeking. The considerable amount of cider he had consumed went a little way to bolstering his flagging spirits and, feeling a little unsteady on his feet, he made his way over to the proprietor, who was engaged in an intense conversation with two undesirable-looking gentlemen. Pierre cleared his throat and waited patiently until the man in question turned to him. He was a burly, formidable chap but his manner seemed kindly enough as he refilled the poet's tankard and endeavoured to answer his question.

"Paquette de Chantefleurie...ah, she hasn't gone by that name for a long time sir, but I know her," he smiled fondly, a faraway look glazing over his eyes, "She was a beauty in her day, our Paquette...yes, by God, she certainly was!"

Pierre grinned, pleased to have found a promising lead so early in his investigations, "She's alive then? And she still lives in here, in Rhiems?"

The innkeeper nodded somewhat reluctantly, his initial friendliness replaced by an air of distrust, "Certainly...but let me warn you, young fellow, if you're here to stir up trouble I suggest you take your custom elsewhere. Paquette is as respectable a woman as any 'round these parts and she don't want any of that old muck being spread around...not now, after all this time."

"But I-" Pierre tried to refute the man's suspicions but he was not to be shaken off the scent so easily.

"And if you're after her telling that story about her daughter and the gypsies again, you're out of luck there too - she's had it up to here with gossip-mongers and parasites!" He paused, breathless with indignation, and took a long pull from the wineskin hanging at his belt, "It's enough to make a man sick, the way folk feed off the misery of others. It's been the same way ever since the poor child was first taken..."

Pierre shook his head fervently, "You don't understand...yes, I'm here about Paquette's daughter but not in the way you think! I-"

"Oh, this should be interesting."

Another interruption, but this time it did not come from the innkeeper. Pierre whirled around to find Esmeralda standing behind him...or at least, what he imagined Esmeralda would look like if she was older by two decades and been starved for a significant amount of time. The woman was tall, pale and skeletal but, despite this, she still bore a striking resemblance to the Minister's wife - like a vague doppelgänger, raddled by mistreatment and the passing of time. Her features, her voice, the ferocity of her eyes - black as obsidian, rather than green, but still, this had to be her...

_Esmeralda's mother._

Paquette Guybertaut, formerly known as 'la Chantefleurie', arched an eyebrow at the stranger as he slid from his stool with a clatter and stooped over her hand in greeting. She pulled away, folding her arms across her chest, and Pierre flushed, wrong-footed by such a cool rejection. He was unsure of how to progress following this inauspicious beginning - Paquette, however, obviously did not entertain such doubts and led him back to the table he had left earlier. She claimed the seat by the window and Pierre took the one opposite, sending silent prayers of gratitude to whatever higher being he owed for such a stroke of luck in his otherwise blighted life. A moment of awkward silence followed, only to be broken by the arrival of a bottle of wine and two crude chalices - compliments of the proprietor, who winked at Paquette when she waved over in thanks. This amiable attitude did not extend to Pierre, who received only a scowl for his pains.

"I don't think your guard dog likes me."

Paquette shrugged, "Arnaud is one of my oldest friends. I trust his judgement completely."

"He's in love with you."

The observation earned Pierre a dry chuckle and, encouraged by this, he took the liberty of pouring out some wine. He pushed one of the chalices across the table before holding his own up in a toast.

"To your daughter."

"Perhaps we should get down to business sir," Paquette glowered at him from behind a veil of greying hair, "Who are you and what do you want with me?"

Pierre swallowed - it was now or never. He reached inside his jerkin and into the deep front-pocket of the tunic beneath, his fingers curling around the precious item secreted there. He placed it on the table, heart pounding as, with a sharp intake of breath, Paquette reached out to brush one fingertip against the pink fabric of the tiny shoe.

"Oh...oh, my daughter...my little girl..."

Tears streamed down her haggard face as she retrieved a second shoe from the depth of her bodice - although slightly worn, this was unmistakably the twin of the one Pierre had brought with him to Rhiems. Hands trembling, Paquette placed it on the table, reuniting the pair at last.

"My Agnes is alive."

Pierre nodded, trying to contain his own excitement for her sake, "Yes, she's alive, and I've come to take you to her...if that's what you want."

"When? Where?"

"Tomorrow evening, if all goes to plan. She lives in Paris."

Paquette closed her eyes and held the tiny booties to her heart. "Yes...Paris. I knew it would be Paris. That's where I was going...when I first heard her voice," she smiled mysteriously, amused by the sudden confusion in Pierre's eyes, "After the gypsies took Agnes away, I fell into despair and shut myself away from the world. I lived on the strength of my anger, my hatred for the people who had stolen my child...some years later, they came back to Rhiems and I heard them talking outside of the tiny cell I had entombed myself within. They seemed to be mocking me with their laughter and I could feel the rage overwhelming me again. The gypsies...they were travelling to Paris to see the King. That's when I decided that I would go to Paris too. I would speak with the King and tell him my story...I thought that surely then he would see sense and have them all banished or executed for their crimes. "

She paused, gazing down at the shoes she now cradled in her lap. Pierre studied her face for a moment, trying to imagine her as she would been at Esmeralda's age, before the world came crashing down around her. He poured out more wine for both of them and reached across the table to give her hand an encouraging pat, "Go on...please."

The woman flinched, startled from her reverie by his touch, and offered a strained smile as she continued her sad tale. "I walked for days, until my feet bled and I had to rest - at some point, I fell asleep at the side of the road, and that was when I heard her...I heard a voice in my head and knew it was my daughter. Oh, that voice! I'll never forget it...husky and low, so comforting. It woke me from the nightmare I had been living in for such a long time. I returned to Rhiems the very next day, claimed my inheritance and rejoined society. That was four years ago and I have never looked back before night...when news came that the Minister of Justice had taken a gypsy wife I believed it was a favourable omen, a sign that I had made the right decision, for his hatred of their race is greater than mine ever was. Or so I've heard," Paquette paused abruptly, her dark eyes glittering like those of a religious zealot as she reached across the scarred tabletop to encircle Pierre's wrist with thin, stained fingers, "Now, my daughter...tell me about her. I want to know everything!"

He chuckled and emptied the last of the wine into her chalice, "Perhaps most of your questions would be best answered by Agnes herself."

"I suppose so," she sighed but she did not look displeased, "But at least tell me this, young man...is she happy? Does she have a family of her own?"

"Yes, as far as I can tell, she is very happy. She is a wife and mother, one of the best I've ever known."

Paquette beamed with delight at this answer but, when Pierre motioned over to Arnaud for more wine, she caught him by the wrist and shook her head, "No more for me. We must try to get some sleep now...then it will be morning before I know it and we will be on our way to Paris. Expect me here at first light...I can't wait!"

Unfortunately for Pierre, she was as good as her word, and it seemed as though his head had only just hit the pillow before Arnaud was hammering at the door of his room with the news that Paquette was waiting downstairs in the tavern for him. The poet groaned and dressed hurriedly, gasping as he splashed cool water on his face in an effort to wake himself up. She sat at their table from the night before, a small bag at her feet and looked as though she hadn't slept at all. Nonetheless, she proved to be in good spirit, bestowing kisses on Arnaud's flushed cheeks as they parted for the last time.

"I gave up whoring a long time ago but that doesn't make me a nun," she confided in Pierre. He grinned at this - Paquette's wicked sense of humour had already set her high in the young man's estimations.

**x X x**

Paquette had only been to Paris once in her lifetime, as a very young girl, and was obviously impressed by the size and grandeur of the city, though she did her best to keep up an air of disinterest. Pierre smiled to himself as they weaved their way through the crowded streets - despite her tough exterior, she had the heart and soul of a lost child, fearful and hungry for affection. They soon arrived at the rear entrance of the Palace of Justice and, as they passed through the courtyard, his suspicions were confirmed when Paquette hesitated at the sound of voices within, gripping his elbow as the pent-up anxiety of a decade or more suddenly overwhelmed her. Pierre only smiled encouragingly at this and led her into the warmth of the kitchen, where they were immediately descended upon by Madeleine and Marie.

Paquette shrank into the corner, startled by such an overpowering welcome, but Marie was having none of it and bustled her over to the hearth, grinning at Pierre's half-hearted attempts to escape from Madeleine's stifling embrace.

"I think she's missed you."

"I've only been gone for two days!"

Marie chuckled and began fussing over Paquette, who was eyeing both women intently. She continued to do so for the next ten minutes or so and almost leapt to her feet each time one of the other young maids in the household entered the kitchen, only to sink back into the chair in disappointment. Pierre noticed and took Madeleine aside.

"Where is Esmeralda?"

She shrugged, watching Paquette from the corner of her eye, "She went to a banquet with the Minister...I don't know when they'll be back." The maid had barely spoken these words before the echoes of a heated discussion sounded out in the corridor.

_"Well, I don't care if she is the King's sister, that doesn't give her the right to flirt with every man in the room...including you!"_

_"I do believe you're jealous, my darling."_

_"Don't be ridiculous..."  
_

Paquette rose from the chair again, clutching her throat, "That voice...I would know it anywhere...it's _her_." She started towards the door, only to falter when it suddenly opened and a young lady strode into the kitchen, looking slightly harassed. A moment of awkward silence followed before, with a sharp intake of breath, the older woman resumed her progress and reached out to touch the other's cheek, as though trying to reassure herself that it was not an apparition standing in front of her.

Esmeralda flinched slightly but stood her ground, gazing at this frail-looking stranger with a mixture of indignation and confusion flickering across her face. Seconds later she was struggling to free herself from a surprisingly strong embrace as the woman threw her arms around her neck and began to weep incoherently.

_"It's her! It's really her! Oh Lord, I can't believe it! After all this time...how beautiful she is! My daughter, my Agnes!"_

The gypsy girl pulled back, her emerald eyes wide with disbelief as the gabbled words became clearer. Dazed, she glanced up at the sea of beaming faces beyond - Pierre and Madeleine, Marie and the rest of the kitchen staff. They were all holding each other and laughing, happy tears coursing down their cheeks. She opened her mouth to speak but the words would not come and she collapsed into her mother's arms, sobbing with joy and surprise. After a moment, they stepped back to look at each other, hands clasped as though they feared that they would soon be separated again.

"You're so beautiful," Paquette whispered again, cupping her child's face between her rough hands.

"Oh, my mother!" was all Esmeralda could manage in return.

Suddenly, the door opened behind them and they whirled around as Claude slipped into the kitchen, his robes in disarray. His eyes found Esmeralda first and he reached out to curl a strand of her hair around his finger."Your son is an impudent scoundrel, my love." Still holding the door open, he gestured to the stairs, "Madeleine, would you be so good as to see to Nicolas?"

The maid dropped into a curtsey and hurried to follow his order, "Of course, Minister."

At this Paquette adopted the same surprised expression her daughter had worn only moments before. Her eyes darted from Esmeralda to Claude, "The Minister? You're the Minister? Then, that means..._Agnes_...she's your-"

"My wife," Claude finished the sentence and the shadow of a smile quirked at his mouth as he realised who he was speaking to. He resisted the urge to wink at Pierre as he caught his eye, "And your daughter."

"You have a son?"

Esmeralda beamed and hugged her mother tightly, "Yes, Nicolas will be two in September. Would you like to see him?"

"Oh, that would be wonderful but...well, I wouldn't want to frighten him. After all, he doesn't know me yet."

"Nonsense! Yet another person to worship him, to spoil him like a little prince? He'll adore you."

Paquette tried to speak but words failed her again and Esmeralda held her as she began to weep anew, sobs shaking her slight frame. The Minister stepped around the pair and silently herded the others out into the corridor before heading up to oversee Nicolas's bath.

Mother and daughter had a lot to talk about and it was best if they did so without a crowd of onlookers.

**x X x**

It was close to midnight when the fine dusting of hair at the back of the Minister's neck prickled, forewarning him of a presence outside of his study mere seconds before the door creaked open. Setting aside the book, he swivelled in his chair just as Esmeralda slipped into the room, her skirts rustling like the rich crackle of autumn leaves underfoot. She was obviously drained - her red-rimmed eyes and the tear-tracks on her dusky cheeks were testament enough of that - but the shy smile she offered in lieu of words made Claude's heart skip a beat. He crossed the room in three long strides and held her tightly as her shoulders began to quiver and she wept softly against his chest.

"Shhh...I'm here, my love," he murmured, reaching down to dab at her damp face with the corner of his sleeve, "I'm here."

Esmeralda basked in the glory of his touch, her voice husky and choked with emotion as she whispered his name over and over. Lord, how she wanted to open her heart to him! Mere words would not suffice - he could never truly comprehend her gratitude or, more importantly, the love and adoration she still secretly harboured for him. Such thoughts threatened to overwhelm her again and she clung to him, desperately trying to convey these feelings through the intensity of her embrace. Her aching limbs trembled and Claude pulled away slightly, concern marring his pale brow as she swayed on the spot before him.

"You're exhausted," he announced decidedly, before stooping down to sweep Esmeralda into his arms. Her weak protestations ceased after a few moments and he pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth as she reached up to twine her limp arms around his neck. Claude chuckled and made his way out of the study, gliding lightly to the guest-room at the far end of the corridor, where Paquette was waiting in the doorway.

The depths of her black eyes were unfathomable as they flickered over him, but he met her candid gaze without hesitation, earning a nod of approval. The harsh lines of her face softened at the sight of her daughter and an elated smile beautified her features as she reached out to stroke the young woman's rumpled curls.

"Take her," Paquette glanced up, dark brows twisted with uncertainty as the Minister placed his wife, his beloved bride, into her arms, "She should be with her mother tonight."

"Thank you. Thank you for everything."

Claude did not acknowledge her whispered gratitude, only turned away as she carried Esmeralda back into the darkness of the room, the door clicking behind her. On the way back to his study, he paused at the door of the nursery to listen. He tried to imagine being separated from Nicolas for any length of time but the thought made him feel sick and he peered around the door to reassure himself that all was well. The boy was sleeping soundly, his dark head only just visible above the linen coverlet. After a moment, Claude found he couldn't bear to leave and, having settled on a makeshift pallet beside the empty hearth, was lulled to sleep by the gentle sounds of his son's dreams.

**a/n As always, major kudos for the lovely reviews everyone. Keep them coming!  
**


	21. Love

**Love**

_'And the heart is hard to translate  
It has a language of its own  
It talks in tongues and quiet sighs  
And prayers and proclamations...'_

_'Give in, give in and relish every minute of it...'_

1st April 1483

"Ouch! Do you have to be so rough? You're supposed to be styling my hair, not torturing me!"

Esmeralda glowered at her reflection in the pier glass and rubbed at the side of her aching neck. She was seriously starting to regret enlisting her mother's help in this particular task.

"Well, it would be much easier if _you_ would stop fidgeting, young lady! Ah, all the young girls in Rhiems used to fix their hair like this when I was your age," Paquette mused, tucking a stray tendril into place, "Of course, we used flowers and cheaps baubles, never anything as fancy as this." Holding up a jade-green clasp, she hovered around her daughter's head, trying to decide where to place this latest ornament. Esmeralda smiled pensively, winding a free stand of hair around her finger.

"Do you think Claude will like it? He always makes a terrible fuss when I try to put my hair up."

"Huh, well at least he pays attention to such things - most men don't, you know," Paquette replied, pins jutting out from the corner of her mouth, "You're a very lucky woman."

Esmeralda snorted and dropped her eyes so that the other woman couldn't read them, "I thought you didn't like him."

"When did I say that?"

"You didn't, I just guessed. Ow! Now_ that_ was uncalled for."

She winced and rubbed at a spot on the back of her head where her mother had been a little too vigorous in repositioning a pin. Paquette smiled sweetly and rested her hands on her Esmeralda's shoulders, admiring her handiwork. Aside from a few loose curls framing her face, the young woman's wild raven tresses had been temporarily tamed and swept up into a plaited bun, which was threaded through with seed pearls and gold ribbon. The overall effect was quite spectacular and Esmeralda's eyes widened as she gazed into the mirror.

Paquette chuckled and stooped to press a light kiss against her daughter's cheek, "Yes, you look wonderful...but don't fiddle with it, for pity's sake, or you'll end up looking like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards."

"But that's how I always look," Esmeralda quipped, turning her head from side to side, "Anyway, I doubt these clasps of yours will hold for long if the wind is as strong as it was yesterday."

The older woman made a disapproving sound and began to clear away the unused accessories, "That husband of yours isn't right in the head, taking you out into the countryside in the middle of winter. You'll both freeze."

"It's April now, mama. We're going to have a picnic."

Paquette raised an eyebrow at this, "And a roll in the proverbial hay, perhaps?"

"Well, why not?" Esmeralda's eyes sparkled with wickedness, "I hear it's supposed to be good for your health."

"It never did me any good," Paquette grumbled over her shoulder, leaving her daughter to finish dressing. She passed her long-suffering son-in-law on the way out and rolled her eyes at the hearty greeting he accorded her, much to his amusement - the residents of the Palace of Justice had been quick to discern the softness beneath Paquette's gruff exterior but she played the part with such obvious relish that no one had the heart to let her down. Esmeralda felt a shiver of anticipation ripple across her spine as the Minister slipped into their chamber and, having locked the door behind him, came to stand behind her, smirking wickedly as he studied her reflection. She tossed her head, her emerald eyes gleaming beneath sooty lashes as he caressed the nape of her neck with teasing, indolent fingers.

"Enchanting, as always," he murmured, stooping to press his lips against her shoulder, "My little witch..."

"I'm not ready yet," Esmeralda replied curtly as she wriggled out of Claude's grasp and made her way over to the bed, upon which Madeleine had left out a neat pile of freshly laundered clothing earlier that morning. She paused in the act of choosing an appropriate gown for the day and smiled coyly, her nightgown slipping down to pool around her ankles, "Should I get dressed now?"

Claude's grin broadened as he reached for her, his eyes gleaming with predatory instinct, "Why bother, my dear, when you look simply delicious just as you are? I'm hungry _now_...and certainly not for a mere picnic." Esmeralda readily surrendered into the embrace, moulding her naked curves against him. She could feel his heart pounding as she tilted her chin up at him, schooling her features into an expression of deceptive innocence.

"Oh? What _are_ we going to eat then?"

The Minister raised an eyebrow, his voice rough as he reached down to caress the nest of soft curls between her legs, "Well, I know what _I'll_ be eating...and as for you..." He guided her hands beneath his robes, exhaling sharply as her cold fingers closed around his cock.

Esmeralda wrinkled her nose, plucking gently at the stiffening organ, "A little meat?"

"More than just a little, I hope!" Claude chuckled as he teased at her slit with his middle finger, sliding the digit deep into the warm dampness there. His hand formed a cup beneath her pussy and, as he rubbed her tingling bud with the hard pad of his palm, she bit back a moan of desire, her grip tightening around the base of his shaft. Without warning, he lunged at his wife with a low growl and claimed her red, laughing mouth in a ferocious kiss.

Sprawling back onto the bed, they devoured each other like a pair of starving animals, arching and grinding in a frenzied, fumbling climb to ecstasy. The Minister's velvet robes were soft against Esmeralda's nakedness but, desperate to feel his bare skin on hers, she tore at the stiff material of his collar with teeth and trembling fingers. He smiled indulgently and patted her hands away, raining kisses on her breastbone as he patiently struggled with the offending buttons. Finally, the front of his robes parted, revealing the pale luminacy of the torso beneath...and his leaking cock, standing up to attention against the base of his stomach.

"A witch, yes," Claude sighed, grasping the proud column in his fist, "A nymph, a goddess...Lilith, queen of the night...see what I have here for you, my Jezebel."

Esmeralda gazed up into those impenetrable grey eyes, lips parted in speechless longing as he flicked his pelvis against hers, probing with maddening insistence at the answering wetness between her thighs. The tip of his manhood parted the silken petals of her flower and she quivered, breasts jostling against him as, with one fluid motion of his hips, he sheathed himself within her, buried to the hilt. They were still for a moment, stunned into breathless silence, rendered blind to anything but the joining of their bodies...then, with a mewling whimper, Esmeralda shifted and the spell was broken.

Claude grunted and rocked against her, encouraged by the little noises she made and the sensation of her juices gushing around his cock. His fingers tangled in the wild remnants of her once-elegant coiffure - the numerous clasps and pins, so painstakingly arranged by Paquette, lay scattered across the linen coverlet, displaced and forgotten in the heat of passion. They gathered them up afterwards, grinning at each other from opposite sides of the bed. Esmeralda paused to inspect herself in the mirror, taking in her dishevelled hair and the flush of her cheeks with a thrill of perverse delight.

"Claude..."

"Hmm?"

"My mother is going to murder you."

**x X x**

In the end, the couple's ill-timed romp made no difference to their plans for the rest of the day...no, Captain Phoebus saw to that, arriving at the Palace of Justice just as they were about to set off for the countryside, with the unwelcome news that bandits had been spotted on the outskirts of the city. Cloak and shoes abandoned, Esmeralda sulked in the hallway, watching as her husband prepared to leave, barking orders at Phoebus and the entourage of soldiers gathered in the courtyard. Feeling like a discarded toy, she fixed her eyes on the Minister, willing him to feel the intensity of her glare at his back.

_The great conqueror, out of bed and into the fray...huh!_

With a heavy sigh, she rested her forehead against the windowpane as the troop, now armed and mounted, clattered out of sight. Paquette stood at the foot of the staircase, shaking her head sadly at the sight of the girl's drooping shoulders. She looked utterly dejected.

"He's gone," Esmeralda muttered, sensing her mother's presence, "I should have known something like this would happen..."

Paquette sighed and put her arms around the younger woman's waist, "He's the Minister of Justice, my darling. It's an occupational hazard."

"I know. Anyway, it's my own fault for getting my hopes up..."

The two women stood in silence for a little while longer before heading up to the nursery, where Nicolas was enjoying an afternoon nap. Esmeralda softened as she gazed down at the boy as he twitched in his sleep, chasing dreams. Kneeling beside the crib, she ran a finger across his downy cheek before turning back to Paquette, who smiled and reached down to tug her daughter's unruly curls.

"You really do love him, don't you?"

Esmeralda frowned, "That's a strange thing to say. Of course I do, he's my son."

"I didn't mean Nicolas..."

Paquette paused delicately, expecting Esmeralda to deny it, to look away or perhaps leave the room. The young woman made no attempt to do any of these things - instead, she dropped her attention from the sleeping child in the crib and turned her face to the light, to her mother, who realised the truth of the matter in that moment. It was there, in the serenity of that expression, the candid joy of those green eyes. There was no need for words, for an answer or explanation but Esmeralda needed to speak. She needed release...

"Yes," she replied, startled by the firmness of her voice when it seemed as though the rest of her body could not, and would never, stop shaking, "Yes, I love him. I love Claude Frollo...and I wish to God that I didn't." The confession sapped the last of her strength and she pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying to stem the flow of hot, angry tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

"You don't mean that."

Esmeralda nodded furiously, "Yes, yes I do. He's pure evil. Oh, the things he's done...you don't know him, not the way I do."

"But I know my daughter," Paquette reasoned gently, taking her by the wrists, "You love Claude, in spite of his faults and failings. And he loves you." She took a tentative step forward and gently pulled the younger woman into her arms, handling her like a particularly highly-strung filly on the end of a rope. Esmeralda relinquished herself into the embrace with a heavy sigh, burying her face in the lemon-scented material of her mother's gown. She had anticipated the next question but her heart still dropped into her stomach when Paquette finally uttered the dreaded words.

_"Have you told him?"_

Thankfully, Nicolas chose that moment to start fussing in his crib. Esmeralda hurried to attend to him with a grateful smile, doing her best to ignore the meddling glint in her mother's dark eyes.

The rest of the afternoon passed in quiet reflection as they delighted in the toddler's antics - despite any initial doubts, Nicolas adored Paquette and basked in the glow of her affection for him. He was especially full of mischief today, edging towards the slightly ajar door as his mother grabbed at the back of his tunic, foiling his attempts to escape.

The boy squealed with laughter and reached out to Paquette with plump hands, "Help! Marma, help!" Esmeralda released him, shaking her head as he glowered at her from the safety of his grandmother's arms. She stuck her tongue out at him, chuckling when he responded with a toothy grin. Paquette beamed at her over the child's curly head, "Your son is a little treasure...you can let yourself love Claude for that, at least."

Esmeralda's smile slipped, "Oh, mother..."

She broke off, startled by a sudden cacophony coming from the floor below - heavy footfall and familiar voices raised in alarm. The gruff tones of Captain Phoebus sounded above the rest, directing orders in an uncharacteristically harrassed fashion, "Is the physician here yet? Good, make sure you send for Monsieur Charmolue too...what? I don't know, Madeleine. The Minister sent me ahead...I didn't get a chance to look at his injuries..."

_Injuries?_

Gripping her mother's forearm as they listened in the doorway, Esmeralda was vaguely aware of a rhythmic pounding all around them - it was a few moments before she realised that it was the hum of blood rushing at her temples, rather than the echoes of a distant thunderstorm.

**x X x**

Leaving Paquette in the nursery with Nicolas, Esmeralda took the steps two at a time, her thoughts racing as fast as her feet. An iron fist crushed her heart as she clutched at the bannister, dizzy with fear.

_Claude was injured, dying somewhere beyond her reach, and he would never know how much she loved him..._

The commotion below was ongoing and, stomach lurching, she watched as the occupants of the Palace of Justice bustled back and forth; they reminded her of a nest of ants she had accidently disturbed as a child. She could see Phoebus's golden armour, surrounded by officials in black cloaks, and the jaunty, velvet cap of Jacques Charmolue, the city's chief procurator and an old friend of the family. Charmolue's face was crumpled with concern...

"Put me down, you oaf! I'm not an invalid!"

Esmeralda skidded to an abrupt halt as her husband's voice rang out above the surrounding din - strong, querulous and harsh, this was not the last breath of a dying man. The sound thawed the icy fingers around her heart and, as their grip eased, she let out a ragged sigh of relief...then, as soon as that sickening feeling of dread had passed, she was overwhelmed by a hot surge of rage.

_How dare he act so rashly, risking his life without a thought for his son...or the woman who couldn't bear to live without him!  
_

Trembling with the force of her anger, Esmeralda threw back her shoulders and forced her way through the crowd, pushing and shoving as a red mist descended over her eyes. She could hear Claude growling obscenities - the sound urged her on, goading her like the insistent prick of a red-hot needle, until she finally emerged from the fray into a small room, choked with soldiers and servants. The determined set of her jaw was enough to prompt Madeleine into action and, with the help of Pierre, the maid began to usher the hoard out into the corridor.

Claude was propped up on a small pallet, naked from the waist up and looking even paler than usual as he struggled against the ministrations of the surrounding attendants. Unaccustomed to such vigour in a patient, the lead physician turned away to gather up his instruments. After a moment, he noticed Esmeralda and took her by the arm, blinking away the beads of sweat which dripped from his brow.

"Not to worry, Madame," he announced brightly, ignoring her protests, "The Minister took a tumble from his horse in the skirmish...his wrist is fractured and he's broken his collarbone. It should set well enough but he will need rest and recuperation..." The physician trailed off lamely as the formidable young woman scowled at him. He bowed respectfully and backed away, herding his assistants away from their patient's bedside. Only Phoebus and Charmolue remained, stooping over Claude's prone form as they discussed the fate of the captured bandits.

"And I want those who managed to escape tracked down as soon as possible, is that clear?"

Esmeralda cleared her throat delicately and the three men glanced up from the paperwork scattered across the bed, "I think that can wait until tomorrow, _dearest_. Could I have a few moments alone with my husband, gentlemen?" These words was spoken with considerable venom and, although Claude's face was impassive as the Captain and Charmolue took their leave, he was visibly rattled by her acrimony.

Esmeralda waited until they were alone before launching herself across the room towards Claude. He fell back against the pillows, shifting beneath her with a nervous laugh as she straddled him, "As much as I love having your delicious form on top of me, I-"

She tossed her head and glared down at him, eyes blazing, "Don't you dare, Claude Frollo! Oh, I could _kill_ you!"

"Well, you're doing a fine job of that, my pet..."

The Minister winced, bucking his hips slightly as Esmeralda lowered her face to his and hissed at him through gritted teeth, "You selfish bastard, I was so frightened! How could you do this to us? Think of our little boy, Claude...think of _me_..." Her voice cracked and she dropped her head, shoulders quivering with emotion. He sighed, reaching out to brush her tears away with gentle, tentative fingers.

"I _do_ think about you, Esmeralda. Since the very first moment I saw you, I've thought of little else. You and Nicolas are _everything_ to me and I made a promise to keep you both safe. If that means breaking a few bones in the process, so be it. I'd die for you. I_ love_ you."

Resting her head against her husband's uninjured shoulder, Esmeralda closed her eyes, exhalting in the lullaby of his heartbeat. She had never heard anything so beautiful in her entire life, or felt more at peace as she traced the pale lines of his chest.

"I love you too, Claude. I don't think I realised just how much until now..." Claude stiffened beneath her and she sat up quickly, eyes wide with alarm, "Oh, I'm sorry! Did I hurt you? I'll fetch the physician..."

Snarling against the pain, he grabbed at her wrist and pulled her back against his torso. Her face fell as she realised what had just happened, what she had just said...

_"Oh God."_

Esmeralda didn't struggle but her eyes were dangerous, like those of a wild animal caught in a trap. She twisted her body, casting yearning glances in the direction of the door. The Minister searched her face hungrily, running a fingertip across her lips in pursuit of those precious words, the words he had waited for so long to hear.

"Please...let me go..."

He held her face between his hands, "Oh, you silly girl...you silly,_ beautiful_ girl. You can run to the ends of the earth but it won't make any difference. You can never take back those words. Again...I need to hear them again."

"Claude_...please_..."

"Say it," he clutched at her shoulders, ignoring the agony that shot through his chest and wrist, "If you really meant it, say it again. For me."

Defeated, Esmeralda sank onto the bed beside him. She could no longer deny him. Taking a deep breath, she gazed into his eyes, finally ready to surrender her heart...

_"I love you, Claude Frollo."  
_

**a/n Phew, thanks for the lovely reviews on the last chapter everyone! I probably won't get a chance to update again before January so it might be best if I say this now - MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR to all my fabulous readers...oh, and happy birthday to Howlingmojo too! More to come soon, I promise! ****Lyrics are from 'All This and Heaven Too' by Florence & the Machine and ********'The Walk' by Imogen Heap**.   



	22. Life, Part One

**Life, Part One.  
**

_'You and me between the sheets,  
It just doesn't get better than this...'_**  
**

Dawn; the sun rising above the distant hills, holding the promise of long, warm days ahead. The Minister of Justice watches over his kingdom, basking in the faint glow of a new morning as it seeps through his window, colouring the dimly lit room in shades of rose and liquid-gold. A groan of protest from the gloom; ever mindful of his wife's comfort, not to mention her strong throwing-arm, Claude Frollo chuckles and draws the curtains, shutting out the world beyond their bedchamber.

_"Morning in Paris, the city awakes to the bells of Notre Dame..."_

Snatches of a song, capricious and elusive, at the back of his mind drive him into the arms of the woman he adores; his saving-grace, his sanctuary. He studies the progress of the shadows on the wall, humming that infuriatingly haunting melody under his breath until Esmeralda offers some constructive criticism in the guise of a well-aimed elbow to his ribs. Claude decides against immediate retaliation and spends the next fifteen minutes plotting against his unsuspecting bride; he must be crafty, ruthless and unyielding in his punishment of the gypsy wench, as always.

Esmeralda; devious and subversive, she is his equal in these games. Smirking to herself, she leans into him, rejoicing in the immediate response of his body - _oh, she can read him as easily as the palm of a hand!_ Claude exhales sharply as her incomparable emerald eyes flutter open; she is gazing up at him, her lips parted...

Then, Esmeralda _smiles_ and, in that moment, he admits defeat. She has enslaved him -_ his body and heart, his very soul _- for another eternity._  
_

**x X x**

July 1489

Waking to a full bladder in the early hours of the morning is not a pleasant experience, particularly when one is forced to to fumble in near darkness for an available chamberpot...or, to be more precise, a chamberpot which has been moved, yet again, from its rightful spot beneath the bed by a lackadaisical maid with a death wish.

Claude swung his legs over the side of the bed, hissing at the startling chill of the marble tiles beneath his bare feet; half-blind and half-asleep, he groped for the pot, cursing Madeleine under his breath as the porcelain handle evaded his grasping fingertips by an inch or so. He stretched for it, hooking his thumb over the rim, and dragged it into the open, fumbling beneath his nightshirt in muted desperation. A sigh of pure satisfaction rattled from the Minister's chest as he released a well-aimed stream of piss into the bowl, his head thrown back and eyes closed as he basked in the immediate relief.

"Ahh..."

With a satisfied groan, Claude pushed the pot away with his foot and eased back into bed. Esmeralda stirred beside him, her fingers curled against his breastbone as she murmured drowsily, still shrouded in dreams and dusk. He smiled and reached out to brush a stray tendril of hair away from her brow, enchanted by the serenity of her beautiful face. His touch seemed to strip the last vestiges of sleep from her; she shifted slightly, her breathing steady, and he could see the movement of her eyes beneath their delicate, translucent lids.

"Good morning," Claude scattered kisses across the dusky curve of her shoulder, "Did I wake you?"

"Your feet are cold," she muttered, opening one eye to glare up at him, "It's still dark."

"Yes," the Minister lowered his head, pressing his mouth to the exposed shell of his wife's ear, "But it will be dawn soon, my love, and then I must leave you, as much as it pains me to do so..." He trailed his fingers across her body and nuzzled at the nape of her neck, smirking as she wriggled against him, "Now, surrender to me, my love, or suffer the consequences." Esmeralda stiffened in his embrace as she realised his intentions, her bright green eyes sparkling with repressed mirth. Claude was the only one who knew how ticklish she was and he was cruel enough to use this weakness to his advantage, "You wouldn't dare."

"Foolish wench, I think you _want_ to be disciplined."

"Remember what happened last time? Do you want me to piss myself again?"

Claude arched an eyebrow and sighed, relaxing his hold on her, "No, I suppose not. After all, there are far more pleasurable ways to torment you..." He bowed his silvery head and began to scatter kisses across Esmeralda's breastbone and ribcage, gently nudging her thighs apart with his knee as she fluttered with delight, "Oh yes, far more pleasurable..."

_Lower, lower_..._worshipping her body with his fingers and tongue...oh!_

Esmeralda exhaled sharply as Claude blew at the thatch of coarse hair between her legs, his hot breath warming the pink slit below. He chuckled and pressed his lips to the damp curve of her inner thigh, "For instance...what if I were to stop now? Take you to the brink and leave you there, teetering on the edge...hmm?"

"Claude..._please_..." she moaned, her voice hoarse and ragged with longing, "Don't stop...don't stop now..."

The Minister smirked and ran the tip of one finger across her slick opening, "Yes, I think it is high time that you learn the virtues of patience, my dear. We will finish this tonight, at my leisure and under my terms." He slid from the bed, ignoring his wife's husky protests, and began the usual roster of stretches, taking great care to show off his taut backside and legs. Esmeralda's eyes trailed over his sinewy form with lazy appreciation; she was usually still asleep when Claude left for work, so being able to watch him going through his morning routine was a real treat for her. The severe grace and fluidity of his body transformed those seeming mediocre tasks - exercising, washing, dressing - into something more...something beautiful. He reminded her of a hawk she had once seen as child, looping and diving over an open field in search of prey.

_Savagery and splendour..._

Esmeralda blinked, surprised at the almost painful throbbing of her heart, and rose to mould herself against the slim plane of his back. Claude sighed blissfully and turned to take her in his arms, reaching down between their bodies to cup the swell of her stomach. Smiling at the gesture, she covered his hands with her own and closed her eyes as their unborn child began to shift within her, "Can you feel it?"

Claude nodded and pressed a gentle kiss to his wife's forehead, nostrils flaring as he breathed in her scent, "We are truly blessed, my love." She tilted her chin and gazed up at him, elated by the softness of his eyes as he thought of the life growing beneath his hands and the two boys sleeping in the room at the far end of the corridor. Six year old Nicolas, their first-born, was the image of his father, an intelligent and charming lad with piercing grey eyes and the hands of an artist. Gabriel, their younger boy, would celebrate his fourth birthday within the week; his impish grin and sweet nature never failed to bring a smile to his mother's lips. Esmeralda adored her sons, as did their Claude and the rest of the household...

"I love you, Esmeralda."

_Oh, he was beautiful...a beautiful, impossible, unyielding bastard of man...her soulmate and bookend, the keeper of her heart... _

"I know," she murmured, raising her hand to stifle a sudden yawn, "I love you too."

"Go back to bed," Claude kissed her again and patted her stomach fondly, "I'll look in on the boys."

"Try not to wake them."

Esmeralda burrowed beneath the sheets, closing her eyes as his footsteps died away. A few moments passed in blissful silence before the door creaked open again and she smiled into her pillow, anticipating yet another kiss..._or perhaps even more._..

"Mama?"

She groaned, her dreams of ecstasy dashed as Nicolas and Gabriel clambered onto the bed and began to leap up and down on either side of her, tugging at her hair and arms in an effort to rouse her into play. Beneath the clamour she could hear Claude's laughter, muffled and wicked, as he watched the scene from the doorway.

"Sorry!"

"No, you're not...but you will be!"

**x X x  
**

It was always a welcome sight, guaranteed to brighten the dullest of days; a fond smile tugged at the corner of Claude Frollo's lips as he spotted a dark head, knee-high amongst the bustling throng of clerks and lawyers. Suddenly, a childish voice, high and querulous, rose above the surrounding din. The Minister immediately dismissed the fawning entourage at his back and swept through the crowd in pursuit of the intruders, black robes billowing in his wake like an ominous wisp of smoke.

The children were just ahead of him, a pair of boisterous fox cubs scrambling along the maze-like corridors of the Palace of Justice. They both stopped dead in their tracks at the sound of their father's voice.

_"Nicolas..."_

Leaning heavily on his crutch, the boy swivelled on the spot and, with a sigh of resignation, limped back stand before Claude, followed reluctantly by his younger brother. The Minister could feel his heart swelling with pride at the sight of those bold, squared shoulders but he gathered his features into as severe an expression as he could muster and glared down at his sons. They shuffled and stared down at their feet, trying to avoid his gaze; if not for the rich quality of their tunics, one could have easily mistaken them for a pair of gypsy urchins, dusky-skinned and dishevelled by the roughness of their games.

"Yes, sir?"

"Would you be so kind as to remind me of the little discussion we had yesterday morning? Or have you already forgotten?"

"You said..." Nicolas inhaled deeply and twisted from side to side, his brow furrowed as he ventured a tentative answer, "You said that we shouldn't run indoors, sir."

Claude nodded gravely, struggling to maintain an air of displeasure, "Good lad. You should keep such play for the courtyard and the gardens." Emboldened by his brother's example, Gabriel inched forward to clutch at their father's robes, jealous and impatient for an equal share of affection. The Minister relented with a chuckle and reached down to bury his fingers in the child's unruly curls, "How goes your quest this afternoon, my fine gentlemen?"

The children brightened immediately at this and broke into a characteristically colourful tale, describing how they had defeated the ferocious Minotaur. As always, Claude listened patiently, laughing and shaking his head at their youthful enthusiasm. The tale of Theseus and the Minotaur was a particular favourite with the boys, who spent many hours weaving through the labyrinthine corridors of the Palace of Justice in pursuit of the mythical beast. Once, much to Madeleine's exasperation, they had even stolen a spool of yarn from her apron in order to better re-enact the Athenian prince's victory, leaving the second-floor hallways in a mess of tangled thread. It had taken the disgruntled maid almost an hour to rewind the entire ball.

"We saved the princess too!"

"And she was very beautiful, like Mama!" Gabriel bounced on the spot, voice rising steadily as he endeavoured to be heard above his brother, "She tried to give Nicolas a kiss!"

"Urgh!" Nicolas scowled and rubbed at his cheek indignantly, as if imagining such a transgression, "And she wasn't anywhere near as beautiful as Mama, not really. No one is." Ignoring the protesting creak of his joints, Claude lowered himself to his knees and gathered the boys into a warm embrace. Esmeralda watched the interaction between her husband and sons with a fond smile from a nearby alcove, where she had been reading a letter from Clopin. She lingered for a few moments, smiling softly to herself, before making her way downstairs, intending to share the correspondence with Madeleine in the kitchen. Claude had taught her to read and write over the past few years and, although she would never be quite at ease with a quill in her hand, she was a diligent correspondent. Clopin, semi-literate and easily distracted, was less enthusiastic in such matters but Esmeralda cherished his sporadic missives and knew each scrawled line off by heart. This latest letter described her old friend's life in Bordeaux, where he lived in a small gypsy community with his common-law wife, Isabelle, and their twin boys. Reynard and Marcel were only a year younger than Nicolas and their father painted them as a pair of mischievous rogues in his dispatches; _'long, lean and greedy...like two greyhound pups with the scent of rabbit ever in their nostrils...'_

Esmeralda reached the bottom of the staircase and turned a corner, chuckling to herself as she read about Clopin's sons and their exploits. She glanced up and hissed in surprise as Jacques Coictier, the jilted husband of Isabelle Trouillefou, emerged from a nearby doorway. With a moue of displeasure, Esmeralda instinctively hid the parchment behind her back, crumpling it in her fist as the detestable noble approached with a smug grin.

He greeted her with a derisive bow, smirking as she placed her free hand over her stomach in a protective gesture, shielding her unborn child from the man's oily attentions, "A woman in your condition should be confined to the birthing chamber; if you were my wife, I would not allow you to appear in public at such a time. It is most _unseemly_."

"Well then, it is fortunate for me that I am _not_ your wife," Esmeralda replied curtly, "The worst thing Lady Isabelle ever did was to allow herself to be coerced into your bed. I played no part in her elopement with Clopin, despite your suspicions, but I would have gladly helped them to escape from you had I known of their intentions in time...and to hell with the consequences!"

"_Lady_ Isabelle, ha! I would not take her back if she came crawling on her knees to me. She is naught but a whore..." Coictier paused with an evil chuckle and lowered his voice, "Yes, a filthy whore; not unlike yourself, my dear. Do you _really_ think that the Minister would have made you his wife if not for the fact that you were with child at the time? You gave him two sons, how convenient! And now you are about to whelp again; no doubt your husband is very pleased with his fertile bitch, the old fool! You cannot deceive me; sorceress and harlot, I name you! It would not surprise me if those brats of yours were sired by Lucifer himself!"

"Hijo de puta!," Esmeralda hissed, jabbing a finger into Coictier's face. The colour drained from his cheeks and he took a step backwards, startled by her outburst, "You are the fool, insulting a woman whom many believe to be a witch. I know a simple incantation, a curse if you will, which can wither a fellow's cock into a useless husk...although I doubt it would make much difference if I chose to use it against _you_." She lowered her gaze and smirked knowingly as he flushed with anger and shame.

"Be careful what you say, whore. I-"

"That is sound advice, my lord. I suggest you follow it yourself."

Claude laughed as his wife and her adversary whirled around at the interruption. He folded his arms and began to circle Coictier, clearly enjoying the nobleman's obvious discomfort, "Do forgive me sir, but I am almost certain that I heard you threatening my wife just a few minutes ago. Threatening her, a pregnant woman, and slandering me, in fact. Now, I do hope I am mistaken in this, otherwise there could be nasty repercussions. For you, I mean. Regrettably."

Pompous and indignant to the end, Coictier puffed out his already inflated cheeks and snorted, "There is nothing you can do to hurt me, Minister. I am the King's physician and I have the right to-"

"Correction; you _were_ the_ late_ King's physician. Your pathetic attempts to curry favour with his son have thus far failed," Claude paused, smiling at Coictier's stuttered protests, "You did not receive an invitation to the Royal Banquet last month, to my knowledge. Perhaps this King is far more selective than his predecessor when choosing friends...or relegating them."

"So it would seem," Coictier cleared his throat and made a low bow, blushing furiously as Esmeralda snorted derisively, "If you would excuse me, Minister, I must take my leave. _Regrettably._ My lady..." He stooped to kiss Esmeralda's hand, an empty gesture which she forced herself to endure, before retreating as quickly as his stubby legs would allow. Claude shook his head, both amused and exasperated by the situation, and put an arm around his wife's waist, gently guiding her toward the kitchens, "I thought you were supposed to be resting, my love."

Esmeralda growled in frustration, "And I was. Well, at least until that...that _creature_ decided to pick a fight with me."

"I see."

"I saw you with the boys earlier," she changed the subject deftly, smiling as he inspected the nails of his right hand with feigned nonchalance, "You've become a soft touch in your old age, Claude Frollo."

The Minister sniffed, unimpressed by her teasing, and stooped to plant a kiss on the curve of her stomach, "They were asking about this again. I think it's about time we told them, Esmeralda. After all, it's a big change for us all; it's only fair that we prepare them for the new arrival."

"I think you're right."**  
**

**x X x**

"It's inside you?"

They were in the small garden at the rear of the Palace of Justice, basking in the late-afternoon sunshine. Esmeralda laughed as her sons pressed forward, their hands splayed like plump starfish on the curve of her brown stomach. Nicolas had been too young to understand during his mother's last pregnancy but now he goggled up at her, his grey eyes wide with the natural inquisitiveness of a young boy. Gabriel was less impressed and soon lost interest in the conversation, wandering off to investigate a nearby cluster of daisies. His older brother quietly scrutinized their mother's exposed abdomen, his eyes shining with curiosity and caution in equal measure.

"But how will it get out?"

"The same way it got in, I'll wager," Paquette murmured, casting a saucy glance at Claude. The Minister's lips thinned in disapproval but he didn't open his eyes or move from the shade of a nearby oak tree. Nicolas raised a quizzical eyebrow at his grandmother before returning to the matter at hand, his eyes wandering over the swell of Esmeralda's stomach.

"Does this mean I'm going to have another brother?"

"Yes. Or a sister, perhaps. Would you like that?"

Nicolas shrugged, "Maybe. She could be called Andromeda, like in the story of Perseus. It's a pretty name."

"Yes, it is," Esmeralda beamed, pleased and surprised by the suggestion, and Claude, who had taken Gabriel on his lap, smiled at his wife over their son's curly head. The younger boy yawned and began to suck on his thumb, a habit which his parents were trying - and, thus far, failing - to cure him of. With a roll of his eyes, Claude hooked his fingers around the child's chubby wrist in an attempt to extricate the offending digit, chuckling as Gabriel began to grumble loudly at this rude interruption.

Nicolas eyed his brother warily before turning back to Esmeralda with a thoughtful expression, "I didn't like Gabe when he was born."

Paquette chuckled at this, "Nothing unusual about that, my lad; you like him well enough now, don't you?"

Nicolas considered this momentarily before sidling between the two women with a heavy sigh. Closing his eyes, he reached up and took a handful of his mother's raven hair, twisting her curls around his finger. A few moments passed in peaceful contemplation before Captain Phoebus arrived in the courtyard, his little daughter Eugénie peering out from behind her father's armoured bulk. She waggled her fingers at Nicolas in greeting, eliciting a groan of disgust from the boy, "Oh no, not _her_..."

As Claude and Phoebus began to discuss the afternoon report, Paquette held her hand out to the child, who glanced up at her father for approval before dashing across the lawn to sprawl at the older woman's side. She grinned impishly at Nicolas and the boy promptly flushed and turned away - scowling heavily, with his lips curled into a sulky pout, he was the very image of his father. Laughing softly, Esmeralda tapped him on the cheek before reaching across to run her fingers through Eugénie's flaxen locks. Phoebus and his wife, Fleur, worshipped the little girl; she was their only child, born after two years of apparent infertility, and they had not managed to conceive a second time since. Despite this, and the deep love and pride she felt for her two sons, Esmeralda could not help feeling a little envious of the Captain and his wife. Her heart ached for a daughter, for someone to pamper and spoil; she had miscarried when Nicolas was a toddler, five months or so into the pregnancy, and, according to the midwife, that child - the one she had lost - would have been a little girl. Even now, with her healthy boys and another little one on the way, Esmeralda felt the raw pain of that loss like it was happening all over again. She closed her eyes and rubbed an hand over her stomach soothingly, listening to the children as they squealed in delight at their games.

After an hour or so Phoebus took his leave, carrying Eugénie across the courtyard on his broad shoulders as Claude and Pierre gathered the boys beneath the oak tree. Paquette stayed by her daughter's side, watching them with suspicion in her eyes and sharing gossip with Marie and Madeleine, who were elbow-deep in laundry nearby. "They're up to something," she murmured, rousing Esmeralda from her thoughts, "That husband of yours...he's up to no good."

Shading her eyes with one hand, Esmeralda squinted over at the small group before slumping back onto the grassy verge with a shrug, "Playing gods and monsters again, I suppose."

Paquette sniffed, "And I bet I can guess who ends up lumped in with the monsters."

**x X x**

"Madeleine, Marie and your grandmother; the three Gorgons!" Claude prompted, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. Nicolas and Gabriel covered their mouths and exchanged a look of pure glee, thrilled by their father's delightful wickedness. They glanced over at Pierre, who nodded in solemn consensus and put an arm around Nicolas's thin shoulders, "Prince Perseus, the time is nigh! Strike down those foul creatures and earn your place in the eternal pantheon of gods and heroes!"

Nicolas eyed the women with ill-disguised apprehension, "What, _all_ of them?"

"Well, I'm sure we would be more than a match for Madeleine - _Medusa_, I mean - but as for Stheno and Euryale," Pierre indicated Marie and Paquette with a pained expression, "Let's just say I don't much fancy our chances there. So what do you say, my prince? You're not _afraid_, are you?"

That did it. Jaw set in grim determination, Nicolas got to his feet, motioning for the others to follow his lead. He moved stiffly, favouring his right leg, but his back was straight and he held his head high, as always, and Claude felt that familiar surge of pride again; his son's indomitable spirit had been evident since the very beginning, unwavering and resolute even in the face of his obvious disadvantage, the adversity he had to face every day.

_Prince Perseus indeed; yes, he will be a prince among men...  
_

With that thought, the Minister propelled Gabriel out of his lap, sending him after his older brother with an encouraging pat, and chuckled indulgently as the youngster charged across the grass with all the subtlety of a gambolling colt. A muscle twitched in Claude's cheek but he just about managed to keep a straight face as the boys hurtled towards Madeleine, hollering like a pair of vengeful barbarians. Doing her best to look suitably terrified, the maid hoisted her skirts up and sprinted across the courtyard, with the children and their tutor in hot pursuit; the sight of the young woman's sturdy - _shapely_ - calves all but undid Pierre, who stumbled over his own feet and almost ended up head-first in a nearby horse-trough. The entire company began to howl with laughter and, as the others followed Madeleine into the kitchen, Esmeralda made her way to her husband's side, smiling as he wiped tears of mirth from his eyes.

"So..." she paused, waiting for him to regain his composure, "That went well, don't you think? Better than I expected anyway."

Claude nodded and rested his head on her lap, enjoying the sudden silence that surrounded them, "Yes, I was pleasantly surprised by Nicolas. He seemed very positive about it all."

"Mm...Andromeda really is a lovely name, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, but I had something else in mind. For a girl."

"Oh?" Esmeralda glanced up, her interest piqued by this new development, "And?"

"It's a surprise," he replied, closing his eyes to avoid her inquisitive gaze. She considered probing further for an answer or, failing that, administering a strategic nip to one of the Minister's oh-so-sensitive earlobes but, before she could decide upon the proper course of action, he began to snore. Loudly.

"Spoilsport."

**a/n Wow, 102 reviews! And I didn't think I'd get 10. Well, thank you all so much for the lovely feedback and your continuing interest in my humble scribblings. _Le sigh!_ We're coming to the end of this long journey; three more chapters should do it, methinks. The lyrics used are from 'Between Sheets' by Imogen Heap...I was also listening to 'Love Is A Song' from the soundtrack of Bambi last night, which might explain the sheer fluffiness of this chapter. More to come soon, thanks again! :3**

**Spanish to English translation: Hijo de puta = Son of a whore.  
**


	23. Life, Part Two

**Life, Part Two**

_'If I should die this very moment, I wouldn't fear,_  
_For I've never known completeness, like being here...'_

October 15th 1489

The arrival of autumn sees the city adorned in bright shades of red and gold. Dying leaves drift along the Seine upon the breeze, their faded beauty reflected in the rippling surface of the water and, as the season turns, so too do the fickle hearts of men and women alike. Temperatures fall but still the wind rises, sudden and bitter, until one cannot help but long for a lover's warm embrace.

And so it came to pass with Pierre Gringoire and Madeleine Beauvoir, who had played out their awkward courtship in the halls and kitchens of the Palace of Justice for seven long years. After a rather inauspicious beginning, Pierre had finally plucked up the courage to declare his feelings for the pretty maid and their relationship was progressing rapidly. Madeleine's father, a provincial blacksmith of middling success, was initially reluctant to grant the couple his blessing and made it quite clear that he did not approve of the threadbare poet as a match for his daughter - but a surprise visit from the Minister of Justice himself, prompted by Esmeralda, soon rectified this, despite Claude's own private misgivings about the courtship.

"Pierre is of gentle birth; his family name is as old and established as my own," he had grumbled to his wife later that day, "This match is beneath him. _She_ is beneath him."

Esmeralda repeated his words to Marie as she and Paquette watched the cook at work the next evening, "I mean, just who does he think he is, looking down his big nose at them like that? _The match is beneath him_...huh! So says the nobleman who married a gypsy dancer!" She glanced out of the open window and grinned as she caught sight of the young couple outside; Madeleine was sorting through the laundry and exchanging shy smiles with Pierre as he wandered back and forth across the courtyard, searching for an excuse to speak to her. After a moment or so Claude swept into the vicinity, with Phoebus at his heels, and quickly accosted the bumbling poet, spiriting him away in the direction of the stables without a backwards glance. Esmeralda shook her head, scowling at the back of her husband's head as Madeleine gathered up the laundry with a mournful sigh.

"You mark my words, there'll be wedding bells ringing before this year is out, whether Minister Frollo likes it or not. And it's about time too!" Marie exclaimed as she vigorously pummelled the dough with her work-reddened fists, "It was love at first sight for those two and they've been tiptoeing around each other ever since! For seven years, no less...I was beginning to think it would never happen."

Paquette nodded in silent agreement, her eyes trained upon the Minister, "What _is_ he up to?"

"He has a meeting later today, at the Palais du Louvre."

"Oh, of course! Lord knows, it's all he's talked about since last week," Paquette rolled her eyes at Marie, "It must be important though; rumour has it that the King and his sister have come up from Avignon."

The cook replied with an audible sniff, "Huh, well I'd like to know what's so special about bloody _Avignon_ that keeps the King away from Paris for most of the year..."

Esmeralda settled into a chair before the glowing hearth and closed her eyes, only half-listening to Marie and Paquette as they prattled on, gleefully sharing the latest titbits of gossip and barking good-natured insults at the soldiers in the courtyard. The merry crackle of the flames beneath it all soothed the young woman's frazzled nerves; she placed a hand upon the swell of her stomach, smiling absently as her touch seemed to rouse the child within.

"You're absolutely blooming," Paquette observed fondly, stooping to plant a kiss upon her daughter's furrowed brow, "The most beautiful woman in Paris, without a doubt."

"I don't fit into any of my clothes," Esmeralda grumbled, plucking at the bodice of her gown with a frown, "Claude had this one made last month. It was fitted for me to within a finger or so but I'm nigh on bursting out of the seams already."

Marie chuckled, "You weren't half so big with the boys. Are you _sure_ there aren't two in there?"

"That wouldn't surprise me in the least," the expectant mother huffed, "It certainly _feels_ that way; I can hardly sleep for the wriggling and kicking that goes on. Hell's teeth, even Claude is complaining about it!"

"It'll be all worth it in the end," Paquette reasoned, "Just wait until you see that little face for the first time. I can hardly wait to meet him...or her..."

"Or them, for that matter!" Marie interjected with a laugh, "I can just picture the Minister's face when he's presented with a pair of screaming babes instead of just the one."

Esmeralda heaved herself upright, wincing as her swollen ankles began to throb, "Well, as much as I would love to sit here all day and let you two terrify me, I think I'd best find out what mischief my sons are getting themselves into."

Paquette sighed, "You're right; it's a little too quiet around here for my liking and that usually means trouble." Suddenly, as if on cue, a piercing wail echoed from the floor above, followed by the thunder of footsteps - and hooves - upon the staircase and in the hallway outside. Then, without warning, the kitchen door flew open and chaos was unleashed upon the inhabitants of the kitchen; Nicolas burst into the room, hollering and dragging a sobbing Gabriel by the hand. Djali darted between the boys, his disgruntled bleats almost drowned out by their high-pitched voices as they all clamoured for Esmeralda's attention. Ten minutes or so passed before the three women finally managed to unpick the indiscernible babble; Gabriel had trapped his fingers in a door hinge upstairs and was inconsolable, Nicolas was concerned about his brother and thoroughly fascinated by the mottled purple bruising discolouring the younger boy's injured digits and poor Djali had no idea what was going on but was terribly upset about it all the same. As Marie whipped up a fresh batch of her legendary sweet buns to distract the trio from their woes, Esmeralda tended to Gabriel, making sure to answer Nicolas's questions as he watched the procedure with solemn grey eyes.

"You're very brave boys," Paquette declared, brushing some crumbs from her the folds of gown for Djali to clean up. Gabriel, who had been sniffling loudly until that point, managed a tearful smile and clambered into her lap, clutching a half-eaten bun in one plump fist.

"It's getting late," Esmeralda reached across the table to scrub at Nicolas's grimy cheek with her sleeve, "You two should be getting ready for bed."

"Can I stay here until Papa comes home?" he asked, grimacing beneath his mother's ministrations, "I want to tell him about Gabe's fingers."

"Me too! I'm not tired, I don't want to-" Gabriel squirmed in Paquette's arms, a yawn punctuating his gabbled pleas, "I don't _want_ to go to bed. I want Papa!"

"You'll see him in the morning," Esmeralda sighed, stifling a yawn of her own with the back of her hand, "He's going to take you both riding as soon as he's finished in court tomorrow."

Nicolas brightened immediately at this, "Can we visit Quasimodo too?"

"We'll see. Now come on, off to bed with you."

"I'll take care of them," Paquette offered, hoisting Gabe up onto her hip. She took Nicolas by the hand and winked at her daughter, who settled by the fire with a grateful smile, "And don't stay up too late yourself, young lady. After all, the little one is due any day now and you'll not be getting much sleep then, my girl."

Esmeralda rolled her eyes, "Yes mama, I _know_..."

Paquette chuckled and set off upstairs with the boys, leaving Esmeralda to doze by the fireside. Marie continued to bustle around the kitchen, prattling away to herself and to whomever had the misfortune to pop their head around the corner and catch her in mid-flow. Pierre and Madeleine made an appearance at some point; Esmeralda smiled to herself as they both shuffled on the spot, mumbling in response to Marie's probing questions and shooting covert glances at one another.

"Oh give it a rest, Marie!" Maddie finally groaned, aiming a good-natured swipe in the cook's direction, "And _you_ can stop pretending to be asleep over there - I can hear you sniggering!"

Esmeralda opened one eye and stuck her tongue out at the maid, who presented her tormentor with a decidedly indecent gesture in return; it wasn't long before the two friends were throwing increasingly vulgar insults across the room at one another and giggling loudly as Marie clucked her tongue in disapproval. Leaning back into her chair with a mirthful sigh, Esmeralda felt an unexpected twinge of discomfort ripple across her stomach. The young woman inhaled sharply as the pain spread to her pelvis and lower back before fading away almost as suddenly as it had struck.

_Birthing pangs_...

Esmeralda closed her eyes as another wave of nausea washed over her.

_Stay calm now. Just relax and count..._

She rocked back and forth on her chair, keeping a silent tally of the time lapse between each spasm as the others chattered mindlessly around her. An hour or so went by before she finally spoke up, her voice jaunty and unwavering despite the urgency of the situation.

"Pierre, I wonder if you would be so kind as to fetch the midwife. _It's time_."

**x X x**

_Daybreak_.

Esmeralda closed her eyes and exhaled loudly, trying to stay calm as a roomful of overexcited women fussed around her, clucking and flapped like broody hens. It had been almost eleven hours since her waters had broken and, other than a moment of short-lived excitement in the early hours of the morning, they didn't seem to be making much progress. The pain was unbearable; Esmeralda prided herself on having a strong constitution but_ this_...this was agony! Something was wrong. She could feel it in her bones...

A rare flush stained the young woman's dusky cheeks as she remembered how much she had screamed during Nicolas's birth; in hindsight, she realised how straightforward her first pregnancy had been. Her waters had broken suddenly on the evening of Jehan Frollo's burial - two whole weeks before expected, if her own hazy memories of that night could be trusted - and the delivery itself lasted roughly nine hours, under the watchful eyes of Madame Durand, a highly experienced midwife. Gabriel had also made a surprise entrance; Esmeralda had awakened at dawn with a jolt, dimly aware that the bedding beneath her was wet. Confused and afraid, she pawed at her husband's shoulder, her voice thick with urgency, "_Claude_..._Claude, I think I'm...oh!_" Within seconds the Minister was up and between her legs, urging her not to push until help had arrived; it was too late for that, as he soon found out when their second child shot out into his arms approximately eleven minutes later. When Madame Durand had finally arrived to examine the infant, she informed the stunned couple that it was, as far as she could recall, the quickest birth she had ever been involved in.

"But you _weren't_ involved," Claude had pointed out, dazed and indignant, "_I_ did all of the work!"

Esmeralda would have slapped him for that, had it not been for the child in her arms and Durand's reproachful mien. She would never forget the jovial grin on the midwife's crinkled face as she pottered around the chamber, directing orders to the attending maids in her familiar fashion; _Madame Durand, the grand old dam of Parisian midwifery, had died eight months later in the Hôtel-Dieu, devoured by the frightful cancer that her body had been silently nursing for almost a decade..._

Another wave of sickly pain washed over Esmeralda, bringing her back to the present situation with an unpleasant wrench. She grunted and blew her damp fringe out of her eyes, scowling up at the midwife with barely concealed irritation. Thoughts of Madame Durand, with her firm, but gentle, hands and calming voice, only compounded the prospective mother's feelings of unease; Giselle Lambert, a former pupil of the old woman, was a mere slip of a girl in comparison and Esmeralda found her chirpy bed-side manner vaguely disconcerting.

Another hour or so passed with little change and Esmeralda sank back into the pillows, feeling frustrated and discouraged; Claude might have been able to cheer her up, but he was still at the Palais du Louvre with the King and there was no telling when he would return...

"Should we send Pierre to fetch the Minister?" Madeleine asked tentatively, reaching out to rub her friend's stomach.

It was as if the maid had read her mind; Esmeralda shook her head and gnawed at her lip, lost in thought, "No, I couldn't justify calling him away from the King just to see me panting like a thirsty dog...we can manage without him."

"The child could be in distress, you know," Giselle ventured hesitantly. Her strained smile did not reach her eyes as she stooped over the labouring woman, "It's not uncommon for babies to have a difficult time passing through the birth canal - especially if they're in an awkward position. I might be able to turn him, if that's the case...but I would have to widen the doorway first..." Esmeralda snarled in response, gripping at her mother's arm in a futile attempt to alleviate her suffering. Paquette winced slightly and her obsidian gaze glittered as she questioned - _pleaded with_ - the midwife in a rough, demanding voice; "What do you mean by that?"

Giselle began to rummage in her basket for the required instruments, "I'll just make a small cut between her legs to open the way, that's all, and then hopefully I can-"

"I _am_ here, you know!" Esmeralda suddenly barked, irritated by the way the women were talking over her head, "Do it, Giselle..._please_...just get on with it!"

"As you wish, my lady. Now...on all-fours, if you please," Giselle prompted, unperturbed by her client's attitude, "Trust me. I won't let anything happen to you, or the child."

Biting down on a wooden bobbin until her jaw ached with the effort, Esmeralda fixed her gaze on the intricately carved headboard as Giselle pressed the blade between her sprawled thighs. The midwife's hand was steady and precise but still nothing could have prepared Esmeralda for the pain of that first incision, white-hot and searing, or the seemingly endless stream of blood that followed. Her vision blurred and, for one horrific moment, she thought she was going to faint; her mother's voice, husky and low, Madeleine's reassuring grip on her shoulder, the vaguely unpleasant sensation of an alien limb tugging at her womb..._it all seemed so dim, so far away, as if it was happening to someone else._..

Suddenly, the child stirred within her, responding to Giselle's insistent probing, and she shuddered back into consciousness, overwhelmed by nausea and fatigue. Fresh pain blossomed across her midriff as the midwife finally withdrew and got to her feet, reaching around to pat her client's stomach with a genuine smile. Paquette and Madeleine stared at her expectantly, red-faced with the effort of supporting Esmeralda's upper body; she had surrendered to exhaustion and was a dead weight in their arms. Marie was sponging her mistress's clammy skin with cool water, clucking her tongue as the shattered young woman whimpered in weak protest and twisted away.

"Well?" Paquette sounded just as frustrated as her daughter felt, "Did it work?"

Giselle nodded and rubbed her hands together, "As I expected; his arm was twisted back, poor lamb. Fortunately, I was able to get a good grip and turn the little 'un, otherwise I fear we would have been in trouble. He's big though, bigger than I expected." She moved around the bed and stooped to whisper words of encouragement to the labouring woman, "Did you hear that, Esmeralda? The baby is ready; I need you to be strong now, I need you to push with all your might. Can you do that for me?"

Brow furrowed, Esmeralda nodded vehemently and growled through gritted teeth, "Never again, Claude Frollo." The others laughed aloud at this and Giselle nodded approvingly - the more relaxed her client was, the easier this would be. She peered between Esmeralda's thighs, urging her to focus, to push on ever harder, until suddenly, _literally_, came the crowning moment; "There! Don't stop, keep going! Yes, that's it...oh, you're such a brave girl..."

Huffing and puffing on the bed, it occurred to Esmeralda that, at any other moment, such condescension - especially from Giselle, who could not be more than a year or two older than herself - would have irked her to no end; as it was, she found it encouraging,_ comforting_ even. A sudden cough from the doorway heralded Pierre's return and, with the midwife's permission, Madeleine hurried out of the room to speak with him. She peered around the door after a few moments, looking apprehensive, "Should we send for the Minister now?" Esmeralda was about to throw something in the maid's direction when a fresh stab of pain stole her breath away; she gasped and clawed at the bed-sheets, tears blurring her vision. Paquette nodded and turned to Madeleine with a grim smile, "Yes, tell Pierre to leave immediately. The child will not wait." There was a brief moment of strained silence before Madeleine ducked back into the room and the echoing sounds of Pierre, clattering down the stairs in a blind panic, faded away. Esmeralda grunted and heaved herself into a squatting position, aided by Madeleine and Marie. Giselle and Paquette knelt between her legs, rubbing her stomach as they prepared themselves for the child's imminent arrival; they did not have long to wait.

Esmeralda threw her head back and groaned, "I can't I can keep this up for much longer, Giselle. I really don't think...oh!_ Oh..._"

And there it was, that familiar flood of mixed emotions - _fear, concern, relief, triumph, pride, elation_ - as she pushed for the last time, her remaining strength waning as the child slipped from her womb in a gush of bloody liquid, voicing its shock and indignation with a piercing wail. Tears streamed from Esmeralda's eyes and she shuddered, sagging back into Madeleine's waiting arms as her mother scooped up the yelping infant, her sallow face glowing with happiness.

"A girl, it's a little girl!" Paquette announced in a tearful voice before reluctantly relinquishing her granddaughter to the midwife, "Oh, my darling!" She clasped Esmeralda's hand to her heart, weeping unabashedly as Giselle climbed onto the bed and placed the naked infant upon the young woman's chest. Hours of agonizing labour melted away as mother and daughter came face-to-face for the first time. The child was certainly larger than her older brothers had been as newborns but, judging by Giselle's reaction during the examination and sheer difficulty of the birth itself, Esmeralda had expected her daughter to be no less than an infant behemoth. Bemused, she gazed down at the slick, howling infant before shifting her gaze to the blood-soaked sheets, unable to reconcile the two things in her mind; how could such a small, delicate thing cause so much pain?

"Pain, yes..." Esmeralda murmured, blinking back tears as five tiny fingers curled around her thumb, "Pain and joy."

_Dark curls, misty eyes and an angry scrunched-up face; her little girl was perfect._

"She looks just like you," Paquette murmured, her voice husky with emotion, "I can't believe how perfect she is." Giselle clambered onto the bed and gently parted Esmeralda's legs, rinsing away most of the blood away from the young woman's lower body. She gently packed the torn flesh there with medicinal herbs and began to repair the damage with a needle and thread. Esmeralda stiffened slightly, wincing as the needle dipped and danced between her thighs, but Paquette's comforting grip on her shoulders bolstered her flagging spirits. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to concentrate on her daughter rather than the pain; it was all worth it all - the tears and sweat and _agony_ of labour - just to count those tiny pink toes.

After taking a moment to inspect her handiwork, Giselle straightened and reached out for the child, smiling kindly when Esmeralda instinctively clasped that tiny form to her breast. "She needs to be cleaned and swaddled," the midwife explained softly, "We'll have her back to you in the blink of an eye, I promise," With a reluctant nod, the young woman relinquished her daughter and sank back into a forest of waiting arms and comforting words, her emerald gaze trained upon the infant's downy head. For a little while afterwards the only sound to be heard was the child's mewling cry, almost indistinguishable from that of a hungry kitten, as Giselle set to work with a diligence that old Durand herself could have been proud of. She had almost finished swaddling the squalling tot when, without warning, the door creaked open and the Minister of Justice peered into the room, his face alight with concern and anticipation.

"Esmeralda?"

"_Claude_..."

The Minister allowed himself a tremulous smile at the sound of his wife's voice and approached the birthing bed. Drawing Madeleine and Marie away with her, Paquette immediately stepped aside as Claude tossed his hat onto a nearby chair and, having settled upon the edge of the bed, reached out to cup Esmeralda's face between long, gentle hands. He studied her features in minute detail, committing each blessed facet to his memory; her skin was pale beneath its naturally dusky hue, her eyes bloodshot and underscored with dark circles, but, in that moment, she had never looked more beautiful, more _powerful_, like an ancient goddess of love and fertility.

"You are magnificent," he whispered, before pressing the lightest of kisses against her clammy brow.

"I know," she murmured wearily, "So are you. Did...did I interrupt your meeting? Was it important?"

Claude chuckled and shook his head, "Shhh! Nothing is more important than you, my love. The King was very understanding - he's waiting downstairs with Pierre as we speak."

Esmeralda's eyes widened at this, "The King? He's here?"

"Yes, in my study, but never mind that now. Where is the child?"

"Minister Frollo..." Giselle dropped into an awkward curtsey as the nobleman turned his attention to the tiny bundle in her arms. He beckoned her over, his impassive expression giving nothing away as she swiftly loosened the swaddling and displayed the squirming infant for his inspection, "Your daughter, milord."

The Minister held out his hands and, as she handed over the child, Giselle noted with approval the care he took in supporting her fragile head and neck. He cradled the snuffling infant against his chest, tracing the soft lines of her rosebud mouth and round cheeks with a gentle fingertip. "She's..._big_..." he finally managed, voice hoarse with emotion and incredulity.

The women laughed aloud at this and Paquette shook her head, smiling fondly as Claude beamed down at his daughter. A few moments passed before the Minister eventually managed to tear his gaze away from the tiny creature in his arms and turn once again to Esmeralda, who was watching the scene with huge, glassy eyes. Claude's smile began to fade as, for the first time since entering the room, he noticed the blood which pooled beneath her, still staining her thighs and congealing upon the linen sheets.

"Oh, _Esmeralda_..."

Giselle sensed his alarm and took immediate action, diffusing the situation with a reassuring smile and a brisk attitude, "All is well, milord. Her ladyship needed stitches, that's all, and I'll be back to remove them in a few days. Other than that I'd strongly advise strict bed-rest until she's fully healed and no strenuous activity whatsoever for at least a month or so."

"Thank you," Claude murmured as he stooped to grasp Esmeralda's hand, squeezing it gently as she smiled up at him, "The King...he wanted to meet you. Both of you..."

"Then go to him," she said softly, reaching up to run her fingers through their daughter's hair, "And give him my regards."

Resuming her position at Esmeralda's side, Paquette patted the Minister's shoulder, her kindly eyes gleaming with tears and understanding, "I'll take care of her. Madeleine can see to the boys."

Claude hesitated, torn between his duties and his heart, before Esmeralda's gentle touch upon his wrist roused him and he took his leave, sparing one last glance at her slender form as she smiled at him from the bed. She looked so small and vulnerable lying there but he knew his wife too well for such fears to consume him; no one could deny her strength, her resilience, and he held the living proof of it in his arms.

Charles VIII was examining the skeleton of a bird, his back to the door, when Claude entered the study. Pierre sat close by, before the fireplace, holding his head in his hands as though he awaited news of his own child. The poet glanced up at the sound of the door, his entire face aglow with sheer delight as, without so much as a word of greeting, Claude crossed the room and placed the tiny bundle in the King's arms. The young monarch smiled, loosening the swaddling with an unpractised but gentle hand, "Ah, _une petit mademoiselle_...and such a beauty too! I am humbled by this great honour, Claude."

The Minister inclined his head graciously, "You are too kind, sire."

**"**Congratulations, old man. She's an angel," Pierre clapped him on the back, his eyes shining as he gazed down at the child, "And Esmeralda? Is she well?"

"Yes, how fares your lady wife?"

"There were some complications, I'm afraid, but the midwife is confident that she will recover. She sends her regards."

"And I wish her a speedy recovery," the King replied as he handed the child over, "Such a pity. I was so looking forward to meeting the most beautiful woman in Paris."

"In France," Claude corrected, "Or so they say."

Charles laughed and threw an arm around the Minister's shoulders, "I can well believe it, my friend. Now, how about that drink you promised me..."

**x X x**

Meanwhile, just along the corridor, Madeleine was standing outside of the nursery, wondering how to explain the situation at hand to the boys without inciting a barrage of difficult, and most likely embarrassing, questions. She sagged against the wall, mopping at her brow with a stained handkerchief, and watched the progression of sunlight and shadows across the hallway. The maid was so exhausted that she did not hear the nursery door open, nor did she feel the slight tug at her apron; it was only when Nicolas spoke that Madeleine realised he was there, gazing up at her with red-rimmed eyes.

"Maddie?"

The young woman started, one hand clutched to her breast, "Oh! Nicolas, you frightened me half to death!"

"I'm sorry," he murmured, tangling the strings of her apron around his fingers, "Has the baby come?"

"You should be in bed," Madeleine replied, trying to imitate the Minister's stern tone as she put her arms around the boy's thin shoulders. He sniffed and buried his face into the stained material of her skirts, "Yes, the baby is here. You have a sister now." Nicolas sighed heavily, his voice muffled and tremulous as he dared to ask the question which had kept him awake through the night, "Is my mother going to die?"

"What? No! No, bless your heart!" Madeleine managed a tired smile as she reached down to take his wan face between her hands, "She's just worn out, pet. That's all. She's doing well, her and the baby both. I promise."

"Oh..." Nicolas pulled away, suddenly ashamed of his conduct; after all, he wasn't a baby any more. He shuffled on the spot, turning over this new information in his mind, "What...what does she look like? My sister?"

The maid scratched at the back of her neck thoughtfully, "Well, as far as I can tell she doesn't look very much different to any other baby. She's pink, and very small, and she has lots of fine, dark hair, like you and Gabe."

"Do you think she'll like me?"

"Of course she will!" Madeleine chuckled and pulled him close again, ignoring his protests, "You might not like her though, when she gets a little bigger and starts following you everywhere and asking lots of questions."

Nicolas snorted, "Gabe already does that. It's not so bad."

"Oh really?" Madeleine smirked as Gabriel appeared in the doorway, still half-asleep and squinting up at them with a mixture of confusion and belligerence. His unruly black curls bore more than a passing resemblance to a bird's nest and this, along with the blanket tangled around his short legs, suggested that he had only been awake for a few moments. He stifled a yawn and kicked the blanket away, before turning expectant eyes upon his brother.

"Where's Papa?"

"Go back to bed, Gabe. It's not morning yet."

"It is so!" Gabriel replied querulously, rubbing at his eyes, "The sun is shining! I want Papa, I want to go riding..."

Nicolas took the younger boy's hand and turned to Madeleine with a long-suffering sigh, "I hope the baby isn't as much of a pain as Gabe!"

"And where would be the fun in that?_ I_ hope she's a bigger nuisance than the _pair_ of you!" Madeleine grinned as Nicolas's eyes widened with horror at the thought and Gabriel scowled up at his brother, visibly unimpressed at being branded 'a pain'. The maid chuckled and put her arms around the two boys, feeling her heart swell with affection for her young charges, "Come on, let's go see if Marie has any breakfast for us."

**x X x**

As the inhabitants of the Palace of Justice went about their business after the excitement of the morning, only Claude Frollo and his wife managed to avoid the daily commotion. Curled up together on the birthing bed, they watched in happy silence as the latest addition to their family enjoyed her first feed. Despite still being in considerable pain Esmeralda could only beam with joy as their daughter latched onto her breast and began to suckle contentedly. A few moments passed before the child dropped the nipple with a satisfied grunt. Esmeralda smiled and, wincing at the stiffness playing across her arms and shoulders, placed the grizzling infant upon the Minister's lap, "Your turn. Mind her head."

"There's my girl," Claude murmured soothingly, gazing down into the wizened face of his daughter as she began to wail, "Yes, that's it...you cry on, my darling, cry just as loudly as you like. Let all of Paris know you're here..."

"She has you wrapped around her little finger already," Esmeralda commented with a chuckle, her green eyes sparkling as he swept the infant up into his arms.

Claude arched an eyebrow at her, an enigmatic smile setting his features aglow, "There, there little Agnès..._shhh_..."

"Agnès?"

"For you and your mother," he replied, gently massaging their daughter's back with one long hand, "I won't be offended if you don't like the idea."

"Not at all," Esmeralda smiled softly, "I think it's perfect. Agnès Andromeda."

"Perfect," Claude agreed, smiling as Agnès let out a resounding belch. A vein of excess milk dribbled down her chin and onto his shoulder, "There we go, that's a good girl. Not bad for a first effort. Esmeralda?"

"Hmm?"

"I was thinking of going away for a few days," he stooped to place the child in her basket, smiling as she yawned up at him, "To Tirechappe, my family estate. Just the two of us. Would you like that?"

"_Just the two of us_..." Esmeralda stretched luxuriously and closed her eyes, "Yes...I think I would."

"Then I shall take you there, my love. As soon as you're well enough to travel."

She rolled her eyes, toes curling as he pressed a kiss against her jaw, "I'm fine, Claude. Really."

"Stubborn wench," the Minister laughed and buried his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent with a blissful sigh. He thought of his daughter, snuffling in her sleep beside them, and of the boys and Quasimodo and...oh, everyone else he held dear to his heart. He had not been back to Tirechappe since the loss of his parents; it seemed as though an eternity had passed since then...but now it was time to return, time to be honest with himself and with Esmeralda.

_It was time to face the past._

**a/n As always, much love and thanks to all my readers, as well as those who have added 'Compromise' to their favourites/alerts. This chapter is for Christine - happy birthday sweetheart :3 I'm sorry for the delay with this chapter but I'm back at university now and there's a lot happening in my life at the moment, both good and bad. Lyrics are from 'Gorecki' by Lamb. More to come soon, angst and drama on the horizon...well, I can't let them have it too easy, can I? ;)**


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